The 267 Year Old Human
by Pananakin
Summary: Sarek finds a 21st century human on the Klingon infested planet, Donatu V, but how she arrived and managed to survive remain a mystery. A temporal detective, a cowboy and Captain Lorca attempt to uncover the truth behind this bizarre abduction and what it means for the Klingon-Federation War. This epic, space opera features a cast of original characters and several cannon cameos.
1. Prologue

**NOTE:** I love Star Trek. I am a huge fan of the series, but not a super fan. I wrote 4 chapters of this fanfic with a Bajoran aboard the _Discovery_ before I remembered they were not a spacefaring race until the 24th century. There will be mistakes. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I've written a few scripts in my time, hence the heavy dialogue and progressive-verb tense, but I don't consider myself much of a writer. I'm more of a storyteller and would love critiques and reviews, especially concerning my plot and original characters.

I highly suggest you familiarize yourself with the _Discovery_ timeline before reading, since I will be force-fisting my characters into episodes of the show. I will only be including the scenes pertinent to my plot and not transcribe every single detail of every episode. So if you want to know what Saru was doing when Lorca was kidnapped or how Burnham and Tyler hooked up, watch the show! (Or read the wiki.) Any timeline changes will be denoted.

Hold tight! This was _supposed_ to be a shameless self-insert, wish-fulfillment fantasy where my alter ego knocks heels with Jason Isaacs. It's evolved quite a bit since it's inaugural draft... This will be a loooong series with dozens of chapters ranging in the 8,000 word count. I will be amazed if anyone actually reads it all.

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

 **TIME:** The following takes place a few months before the episode _The Vulcan Hello._

* * *

 _-Ambassador's Log, Stardate 0102.4-_

 _Earlier today, the Vulcan Expeditionary Group successfully penetrated the energy barrier encasing the contested planet of Donatu V. We found an undocumented human colony present on the surface several months ago, but no information on how these people arrived or how they became enclosed within this obstruction. Distress transmissions from the surface indicate an inaugural population of 100 humans. That number, however, has dwindled significantly over the past several months. After continuous Klingon attacks, only 10 colonists remain. I have hand-selected a group of my finest officers to beam to the surface and mount a rescue for these last survivors._ _-_

 _-End Ambassador's Log-_

Sarek and his small team of Vulcan specialist step foot on the bitter, rocky surface of planet Donatu V. Once the battlegrounds of the Klingon Cold War, the only remaining signs of life are a few Qo'nos Bitter Melon crops growing amongst the jagged peaks of the mountainous terrain. The wise Ambassador takes in a lung full of thin air and switches on his tricorder in search of the distress beacon. He and his elite group of explorers start their arduous journey deep into the purplish-blue crags of this alien planet.

As they trudge ahead, evidence of life makes itself known; rope bridges, tools, wall carvings, all of Klingon origin. The distress beacon they follow is also Klingon and logic dictates a high probability that Sarek will lead his men into a trap. Admittedly, the Vulcan finds himself debating against his logical side during this mission.

For almost two star cycles, Starfleet intercepted distress calls from deep within the Donatu V surface from humans claiming to be abductees. At first, rescue attempts were impossible due to the bizarre ship disabling barrier. Starfleet, as well as many in the Vulcan Expeditionary Group, determined the transmissions to be nothing more than elaborate bait. Sarek, however, remained unconvinced. For two star cycles, he listened to the cries of those humans. Never has he come across a trap so well acted, so well dedicated and protected. Logic warns of a ruse, but morality and decency say these pleas for help are real. The wise favor caution, of course. Klingons should never be trifled with, so the exploration team carries large phaser rifles and thick armor.

After several hours of trekking and climbing, the group finally arrive at a cave opening reinforced with scrap metal from a decommissioned Klingon ship. The doorway stands ajar, exposing a long tunnel of dangling ceiling lights. Sarek and his men set their rifles to stun and quietly tiptoe inside, checking for dark corners and hideaways.

The lights on the ceiling paint the cave walls a dim golden yellow. Along these walls, the Vulcans find their first sign of human life; drawings. An intricate and highly adept mural of portraits sketched in charcoal and limestone chalk extend the length of the 100-foot tunnel. Faces of children, men, and women of varying races pose close together, but no two faces seem related. Below each portrait is a name as well a number indicating the day of death.

"A memorial," Sarek whispers to himself.

 _CRRASSH!_

With lightning speed, the Vulcans whip around and aim their rifles down the deeper, darker end of the tunnel. The two men in front cautiously walk towards the source of the noise and find a fresh body neither human nor Klingon. The team continues deeper into the various man-made chambers while Sarek inspects the humanoid's face with a flashlight.

The corpse possesses brown skin, not thick as a Klingon skin, but deep with ridges like one. Unlike the pointer bald heads typical of Klingons, a long black mane grows out the back of a more rounded skull.

"How interesting," Sarek determines though his face remains emotionless.

"Ambassador Sarek. We have found the source of the distress signal."

At the end of the long tunnel of murals lies the command station erected from a crashed Klingon vessel. The bridge of this old ship protrudes several hundred feet out the side of a cliff. The hull window opens to the natural light of the opulent blue mountain range. Sarek takes a moment to admire the view. If it were not for the planet's inhospitable climate, Donatu V would be a beautiful place to live.

Inside the bridge lie remnants of two cultures; art, weapons, clothing, and technology. It would seem, to the untrained eye, that the two species cohabited this vessel, but such conclusions would be preposterous. The humans have merely adopted the Klingon technology, or so the more conservative Vulcans of the group hope dearly.

Along with the scattered bits of deconstructed gadgets rest the battered and butchered bodies of these adaptable humans. The gashes along the back of their heads and necks indicate a guerrilla attack by Klingons. Sarek also finds this interesting as such an attack would be considered cowardly and dishonorable to the proud warrior race. Though, he has yet to find anything on this planet that makes any logical sense.

"We are too late," he announces to his team, "Based on the rate of decomposition and rigor mortis, these people have been slain just a few hours ago," his words should conjure up some kind of remorse within his men, but the Vulcans remain emotionless. No reason to shed tears now.

"...h-help," a weak voice calls out from the rubble towards the back of the room. Sarek carefully approaches and uncovers a human woman with a rather large cut across the length of her skull. Her long hair lays drenched in a pool of thick blood and all the color in her face and body has turned to gray. Neither of the Ambassador's sharp eyebrows twitches at the gruesome scene. He simply requests for a medkit and asks questions to keep her conscious.

"My name is Ambassador Sarek with the Vulcan Expeditionary Group. We are here to rescue you and bring you home. Please tell me, how did you come to be on this planet?"

The woman tries to speak but chokes in fear.

"You've gone into shock. Please, allow me to find the words for you," the Vulcan places three fingertips on the side of the woman's face. He looks deeply into her eyes and takes a long, deliberate breath, "My mind to your mind... my thoughts to your thoughts," he slowly closes his eyes, but hers widen as a strange energy forces its way into her brain, scouring her thoughts and pulling her emotions in every direction.

The Vulcan relives her memory of waking up on this wretched planet and feels every miserable moment as if they were his own.

 _A burn on his lungs from breathing Donatu's anemic atmosphere. A sharp pain in his stomach as serrated metal cuts through his flesh. The muscle ache of days long hand-to-hand combat. The hopelessness of calling for Starships that never answer and triumph of victory when the battle is finally won._

 _The Vulcan digs deeper into the woman's memories, to a time before she reached Donatu V. He can hear a crowd of voices and the sound of whistles. A bright white light envelops his consciousness and someone hits his shoulder. The image clears and he finds himself standing in the middle of a crowded street with thousands of humans hastily pushing past one another. Another flash of white blinds his eyes._

" _Look right here," comes a man's voice. He holds some kind of primitive looking device with a bulb._

 _HOOOONKKK HOONK!_

 _A cavalcade of bright yellow antique cars drives past as humans weave in and out of traffic, yelling into small flat earpieces. Sarek's eyes readjust to the flashing light and skyscrapers appear in the background, stabbing at the sky like spears from the ground. The Vulcan recognizes these buildings from his old Earth history lessons but never seen them with such an exhibition of color and information. There are images plastered up the sides; advertisements for makeup, perfume, and watches. LED banners scroll by displaying stock numbers 'DOW -0.28%, Nasdaq +0.12%' while food company logos blaze the air with hot neon._

 _The alien's nose smells the clustered aroma of smoke, gasoline, hotdogs, and cologne as the cold air bites at his skin. The noise of these product campaigns, people shouting and cars honking make his pointed ears buzz. He slowly spins where he stands until his eyes find a large screen towering above, displaying in nauseatingly bright lights the current time and date:_

 _12:28 UTC_

 _Saturday, March 25, 2017_

Sarek slowly removes his hand from the human's face. She takes hard, but steady breaths and her heart slows to a resting beat. The still silence of Donatu V settles into the Vulcan's throbbing ears while he calculates what he just witnessed.

"Ambassador Sarek. What did you see?" inquires a party member.

"How highly... _improbable_ ," Sarek faintly wrinkles his angular eyebrows. The human would later learn this species rarely make such a palpable face, "Samantha Bex. You are a _long_ ways from home."


	2. Ch 01 - Wanna do somethin' Stupid?

**Chapter 01 - "Wanna do somethin' stupid?"**

Samantha Bex enrolls in Starfleet Academy and meets the eccentric time travel fanatic, Detective Kuade.

* * *

 **NOTE:** For the purpose of this story, I have created a version of Starfleet that is far more stringent and structured than later years. The events described in this story as well as on the actual _Discovery_ show will help to shape Starfleet into the more cavalier institution we are all familiar with.

**Special thanks to B3ta R3ad3r for editing work**

 **TIME:** The following takes place a few months before the episode _The Vulcan Hello,_ and about a month after the Prologue.

My characters...

 **Samantha Bex:** 29, born in the year 1988, abducted in 2017 and displaced two and half centuries later on Donatu V. How she got there and how she managed to survive this Klingon infested planet is unknown.

* * *

"Thank you for registering with the Starfleet Academy - Main Campus, Samantha Bex. Please take your Starfleet issued tricorder and ensure that it is properly functioning before leaving the supply station," a gentle computer voice instructs.

"Umm..." a young human woman takes the small device out of a replicating unit and rolls it in her hand to look for a switch. The small gadget, smaller than a brick and about as heavy comes with an attachment that looks a bit like a microphone.

"Please take your Starfleet issued tricorder and ensure that it is properly functioning before leaving the supply station," the computer voice instructs again.

"Where _is_ the power switch?" she mumbles to herself, pressing her thumb hard into to the screen and following the outlines with her fingers.

"Could the primitive in the front of the line, please get her tricorder n' go?" an annoyed twangy voice calls from behind.

Bex looks over her shoulder and sees a long queue of various off-worlders standing impatiently behind her. The Orion inhabitant next in line stares repulsed at the top of her head. She looks up at the green man, expecting to be chewed out, but he remains distracted by her six-inch scar.

" _Hello!?"_ the twangy voice calls again, "Some'ova us would like to get across the bridge _this_ century, please!"

"Uh, sorry..." Bex pockets her gadget and takes her shoulder bag off the ground.

" _Thank you,_ " comes that critical voice.

The young woman walks past a rather handsome looking human with long blonde hair. His gold embroidered Starfleet Uniform indicate a command position, though he stands charged with maintaining proper queue time at the replicator. His hair hasn't been washed in days and bags hang under his bloodshot eyes.

He shakes his head at her, "They're gonna eat you alive cadet. You should quit now. Country-bumpkins like you don't last long in Starfleet," he hazes with the strong odor of alcohol on his breath.

"Country-bumpkin?" she cocks an eyebrow at his thick accent, "And what Louisana swamp did you crawl out of?"

"I wouldn't cop an attitude if I were you. You're talkin' to a Commander."

"Hm, I thought they ran ships, not queues."

The Commander laughs in disbelief and folds his arms across his chest, "You wanna be the fastest cadet court-martialed in Starfleet history? Cause I can make it happen."

"Commander Beauregard," a queuing Vulcan speaks up in a monotone voice, "If I am not mistaken, _you_ were recently court-martialed for bringing a pregnant tribble on the _Enterprise_ and as such, you do not have the proper authority to-"

"Yes, thank you, Ensign Hork! I didn't ask," Beauregard interrupts trying to remain cool.

 _Bad sign,_ Bex thinks to herself _, first Starfleet Commander I meet is a complete drunk,_ she walks away.

"Hey, Cadet! _Hey!_ Watch yourself! I'll remember you!" Commander Beauregard threatens. She pays his threats no mind and takes in the warm California sun.

It's a beautiful early late day in 2255 San Francisco. The main Starfleet registration pavilion is on the other side of the bay from the main campus. There's a complimentary shuttle cadets can take to cross, but Bex decides to walk. It'll give her time to take in her surroundings and see how much has changed since the year 2017.

She casually strolls down the Golden Gate bridge, and to her delight and surprise, despite being 260 years older, the bridge remains relatively unchanged since the last time she last traipsed across it. There is a new coat of paint of course, as well as some new lights neither LED or halogen, but it is still red and 'classic'. In fact, there is quite a bit of classic past millennium art to behold. She expected to arrive back on Earth to something far more sci-fi-like; fewer trees, less brick, and mortar, buildings shelled in chrome and irritating holograms, but it seems the earthlings of the future take pride in their past. Bex takes comfort in that.

Even the aliens she passes by don't seem so out of place. Some may have different colored skin or weird looking noses, but for the most part, all are humanoid with 2 arms and 2 legs. Again, she was expecting to see something more fanatical, like the deep sea creatures found in Earth's oceans. She begins to wonder whether it would be possible to make a home here or is it too similar to the Earth she left? Is this nostalgia she feels growing inside or is it yearning for something she can never get back?

"Enjoying the scenery?" replies a mid-Atlantic accent. The woman pulls her attention away from the San Francisco Bay and is greeted by a pair large brown human eyes, "I too enjoy a leisurely afternoon stroll now and again," the man smiles charmingly. His dark hair lays slicked back in a simple pomade and his broad shoulders adorned in a vintage yellow sports coat and black tie.

She raises her eyebrows at him, " _Yeesh._ Guess I'm not the only time traveler."

"Oh!" he appreciates her noticing his attire, "I _do_ have a habit of dressing to the nines," he holds out his hand to shake, "Detective Kuade, Agent for the Department of Temporal Investigations," he says with a dashing smile, "I am here to investigate your abduction, Samantha Bex."

Bex takes his hand bemused, "Uhh... DTI didn't mention anyone by the name of _Kuade_ was representing me."

"Yes! Well um," Kuade falters, "I'm... _consulting_ for the department. I am what you call uh... _Freelancer._ "

"Ah! You mean an _ambulance chaser._ Or I guess in this case; a _time machine_ chaser. Sorry, but I'm not interested in rounding out your portfolio," Bex walks away casually.

" _Ack!_ " he almost breaks character, "Wait!"

"I already have both Starfleet _and_ the Vulcan Expeditionary Group looking after my case. I don't need a third stiff," she says over her shoulder.

The detective steps past and stops her before smoothing his tie and hair, " _Ahem._ Ms. Bex. Please understand, this is not my attempt to take advantage of your unfortunate displacement. Make no mistake, I only have your best interest at heart. Your time travel case is... _ambiguous_... _complicated._ Even the Vulcan's are scratching their bowl cuts over it. Not only were you abducted by an unknown entity, but you were also deserted on a dangerous alien planet-a planet that neither Starfleet nor the Vulcan's have any jurisdiction."

"And _you_ have that jurisdiction?"

"Unfortunately, no."

Bex turns away.

"Ugh!" Kuade catches her again, "But, there are more _unconventional_ ways to gather clues," he shifts a little, "For instance, I can assist you in your relocation to the 23rd century."

"I lived two years with _Klingons_. I think I can handle this century," she winks.

"The future is not so simple, Ms. Bex. The scientific and cultural advancements of these past two centuries may puzzle an antiquated human such as yourself."

She tilts her head a little insulted.

Kuade continues, "For instance, ' _Tricorder on!_ '" he instructs the device in Bex's pocket and it blips on causing several welcoming prompts to speak up. She blushes and muffles it.

"I can provide assistance in helping you get established and acculturated to your new life here in the future," he continues, "Perhaps in my observations of your progress, I can pinpoint the _reasoning_ behind your kidnapping."

Bex remains unconvinced and frowns at him with a hand on her hip.

"Did Starfleet offer you any such assistance? Or the Vulcans?" he asks.

"No, they just sort of left me here..."

"Were you even interviewed?"

"The Vulcans did some kind of _mind-melt_ when I was found."

"Mm-hmm, _meld_ ," Kuade corrects, "A sort of... first-person account of your life. That should be more than sufficient to determine a culprit. Yet, even with their telekinesis and starships, they are still no closer to solving your case than I am! Perhaps a little bit of old-fashioned sleuthing can help," he grins and wiggles his eyebrows.

 _This man is exhausting,_ Bex huffs.

"Well, it's not like I can ask the Klingons!"

"Oh! So the Klingons were the ones who abducted me?"

"Heavens no!" Kuade scoffs disgusted, "They're nowhere _near_ capable of such a technology. Really, Ms. Bex, if those _troglodytes_ are your bellwether of current technological prowess, you really _do_ need me."

Bex is annoyed and turns away once more, "No thank you, Detective. I don't need a babysitter" she calls over her shoulder and smiles sarcastically, "Besides, I'm about to get all the education I need!"

"Yes!" Kuade yells out, "But you're going the wrong way!"

Bex stops and realizes she's been turned around.

"Starfleet is on the _other_ side of the bridge and about another 20 miles," he smiles weakly and shrugs, "I have a car..."

* * *

"I can't pay you," Bex sits in the passenger seat of a yellow 1967 Ford Mustang as Detective Kuade taxies her to Fort Baker. She still feels suspicious about this eccentric man and sits leaning far away from him.

"No payment required. You live in a New-World Economy now, Ms. Bex," he sighs with excitement, "I have so much to teach you!"

"It's just Sam. And I mean... repay you for your consultations- _if_ I decide to accept your offer."

" _Beneficial mutualism_. I will help you carve out a new path in life, and you will help me... _fill out my portfolio._ "

"And exactly how long would this co-symbiotic relationship last?"

"Well, that depends. Right now, returning you back to 2017 isn't really an option. As far as I know, no one other than your abductors has come close to perfecting time travel technology. So, getting you settled in and acclimated to this century is my first priority. Starfleet is a good place to start, but the timeframe depends on what you choose to study. I'd suggest from your experience with the Klingons; Exoarchaeology or Xenolinguistics as possible field choices."

"I was thinking with my experience with the Klingons, I should study Zoology."

"Uh.. _erm_ well, what did you study prior to your abduction?" he asks rather curious, "If I had to guess, I would say you were a writer. You're very well spoken, perhaps even a lawy-"

" _NO!_ ," Bex cuts him off, "Rule number one if you're going to be following me around; _never_ bring up my past life _or_ my time spent on Donatu!"

Kuade stumbles, "Oh! Uh-I.. I didn't mean to _pry_. I just figured, based on your psych-evaluations, you were _comfortable_ with talking about your past. But, _heh_ , that's fine... Just makes my job _really_ difficult," he grumbles under his breath.

He falls quiet and after a mile of awkward silence, Bex sighs and tries to lighten the mood, "So, you really like mid-century Americana, huh? Is that why you're so gung-ho about helping me?"

"I am a fan of _many_ eras and not just those exclusive to Earth. I am a historian, a chronologist with an advanced degree Temporal Mechanics. I take pride in my work and I hope to be one day be recognized for it," he still seems upset.

"You know, I'm from the _latter_ half of the twentieth century."

"Yes, I am aware."

"Never even seen a sports coat that loud before," she laughs to herself.

Kuade frowns, "You're going to be a hassle, I can tell."

* * *

Midday one Tuesday a few weeks after meeting, Kuade helps Bex study in her dorm for her upcoming Galactic Cultures exam. He lays lazily on her bed fiddling with her tricorder, quizzing her on various alien species. She hastily searches for the pieces to her uniform while in short pajamas shorts and top. With the uneasiness of their first meeting now just a faint memory, the two have become more casual with one another.

"Romulans," he quizzes.

"Uhh... Planet Romulus, sector Z-6, militaristic caste system, um.. slavers, xenophobic," she puts on her pants and then hunts for her coat.

"Good. Vulcans."

"Planet Vulcan... uhhh, I dunno, sector J?"

"No."

"Highly logical... telepathic suggestion, similar to Romulans but not nearly as racist."

"No!" Kuade says annoyed, "You're not taking this seriously."

"I could say the same to you..." Bex mumbles under her breath as she zips up her coat, "Have you made any progress, yet? In my case, I mean. It's been three weeks," Bex checks her reflection in a floor length mirror and fixes her wrinkled collar.

"Uhh.. I've gathered some intel," Kuade hands over her tricorder.

"Yeah? Do you have any leads?"

"Leads?"

"In who abducted me!" she gets annoyed, "Or _why_ or _how_ they did it? Geezus, you are the _worst_ detective."

"It's hard to do any investigating when your only witness to the events _refuses to talk about it_ ," he rebuffs.

"Don't you have some special gadgets you can use instead?"

"Gadgets?"

"I dunno, like an EKG meter to measure time particles."

Kuade recoils in horror, " _Never_ say anything like that out loud again!"

Bex huffs, "Whatever. At least I'm not paying you..."

"You'll get kicked out of the Academy for using language like that!"

"What time is it?" Bex grabs Kuade's wrist to check his antique watch "I have to go."

"Go where? You have a xenoanthropology exam in an hour!"

"Yeah, but the Captains' Invocation is about to start."

" _And?_ Wasn't that last week?"

"No, the _Captain's Vigil_ was last week."

"I thought the Vigil was two weeks ago."

"No, that was Orientation."

"Then what's next week?"

"Midterm Orientation?"

"So when does High Command actually _command?_ "

"Don't know, but _this_ presentation has the Captains from the _Hood_ and _Exeter_ present. They won't be on world for another several months. I need to speak with them," Bex slides on her boots.

Kuade clamors to his feet, "I'm not following you, Sam. This exam needs to take priority, not schmoozing with the higher-ups. If you fail this test again, you will have to retake the class."

"Why do you care so much about my personal life? Shouldn't you be more interested in solving my case?"

"Are you not my client? Should I not, as your consultant, be concerned with your well-being?"

"You're crossing the line..." Bex attempts to smooth down her short, unkempt hair over her thick scar, "I'm only going to listen in to the speech for a few minutes. I'll be out in time for the test. Promise."

Kuade takes Bex by the shoulders and looks at his ward seriously, "I don't believe you. You're up to something, Sam Bex. Do you even _want_ to be in Starfleet? You don't seem to put any effort into your studies... Am I being hustled by you?"

Bex frowns playfully, "No," she heads down the hall and turns, "Don't worry so much, Detective. You'll wrinkle your coat."

Kuade pats down his mustard colored sports coat and ponders a bit.

* * *

Bex sprints down to the main auditorium hall which is a beautifully constructed marbled fortress with fountain art that she can only describe as " _Neo-_ Neo-Greek". Red cadet uniforms contrast against the pristine white marble and drones trim the hedges and grass.

"Future officers of Starfleet," a dark skinned Vulcan introduces in the main hall, "It is my honor to introduce, Captain Katrina Cornwell of the flagship _USS Enterprise._ "

The auditorium erupts with the polite applause from about 10,000 cadets and officers. On the stage sit several starship captains and admirals in their full ceremonial regalia. Bex steals a seat by the top of the stairs. Captain Cornwell steps up to her podium with a humble smile. Her gray hair rests straightened to perfection without a strand out of place. She speaks with great candor.

"Thank you, Admiral Terral. Every year, I am invited to address Starfleet's newest cadets. I am asked to direct them down the path that empties into the void of wonders that is our galaxy. Every year, my heart grows fuller as I look around this auditorium. I see the faces of our next generation of scientists, adventurers, and leaders. I am reminded of my younger self and my naiveté of what I thought I would find in those stars. Never could I have imagined the magnificence and the _terror_ that awaited me. Luckily, I'm here to prepare you for such sights.

"Starfleet is more than just the exploration of the greatest frontier," she speaks in a more serious tone, "We are the Federation's first contact with undiscovered civilizations. We serve as its diplomats, its champions and its first line of defense. For every new species Starfleet encounters, for every new religion, language, technology, we put ourselves at risk that our next encounter will not be so friendly. This is why every starship in our fleet is equipped not only to examine new avenues of science and anthropology but to defend itself against those who seek to destroy it. Whether that threat is from Klingons or a dying star, we _must_ step up to protect any and all peaceful civilizations in need, no matter the odds. We are not just pioneers. We are _heroes_."

Bex's composure drops and a lead ball forms in her stomach.

Cornwell smiles and speaks more casually, "A good example, a few weeks ago, I was on route to the Andorian system when my passenger shuttle flew too close to a black hole. It was the helmsman's first day," she jokes and the auditorium laughs softly, "We slipped passed the event horizon and rescue seemed impossible. Luckily, my First Officer, in his profound creativity, rerouted power to the _Enterprise's_ tractor beam. He then used the reverse thrusters to pull us out of the gravitational pull so that we could be beamed back aboard safely. His ingenuity is the lifeblood of this institution. It is what _all_ of us need in order to truly master the stars..."

Bex stares down at the floor with her elbows resting on her knees. She fidgets as if having an anxiety attack. Her knee shakes, sweat beads down her back, her hands feel cold and clammy but her face hot.

 _You're lying..._ she thinks as the Captain's words seem to go muffled in her burning ears. Up in the balcony shadows stands Kuade, arms folded, mouth stern while he stares down at his client. He can tell she is in distress as do several of the cadets seated around her.

"Hey," the woman sitting next to Bex whispers softly, "Are... are you okay? You look sick."

"...It's a big galaxy, and it's not just aliens you have to worry about," the Captain chuckles.

"Excuse me, Captain!" Bex pops up from her seat to address the speaker.

"I will take questions after the presentation," Cornwell dismisses.

"What about Donatu V?"

"Uh... I'm sorry?" Cornwell seems annoyed.

"Donatu V. There was a human prison colony stationed there. You say that every Starfleet ship is capable mounting a civilian rescue, but no such relief was ever organized for these people."

All attention turns to Bex, including Commander Beauregard sitting in the front row who is quite surprised to see her.

"I.. I'm not familiar with the Donatu V human colony," Cornwell speaks carefully, "I _do_ know that Donatu was once occupied by Klingon combatants and as such, the Federation has classified the planet as _hostile_ and _restricted._ If there _were_ prisoners, Starfleet has protocols for extraction."

"Protocols?"

"Yes. We can't just enter enemy airspace without proper procedure," the Captain says condescendingly and the audience laughs softly.

"You laureate about altruism and bravery. Yet when given the opportunity to demonstrate such accolades, Starfleet allowed 125 prisoners to be tortured and killed over the course of 18 months!"

The auditorium murmurs in accusations and Kuade's stern expression drops. Cornwell falls silent so the Captain of the _USS Hood_ speaks up, "Oh wu-wait, now. There were only 50 prisoners on Donatu V."

"Oh, so you know about this, Captain?" Commander Beauregard accuses from the audience.

"That's right," Bex corrects with cynicism, "The _USS Exeter_ was the first to answer our transmission when we were still 125 strong but accused us of being in arms with the Klingons. Then _your_ ship sir, the _USS Hood_ , ignored our pleas and the Klingons slaughtered over half of us _again._ Then it was the _USS Farragut_ and the _Excalibur_ ," Bex points to each of the captains on the stage, " _Every time_ we sent out our distress call, we risked exposing our location to the Klingons. We went from 125 to 53, to 27, until there was only ten of us left. You had almost _two years_ to figure out a timetable for rescue but never followed through. So, pardon my frustration, sirs, but when it comes to the death of my comrades, I was hoping for something a little more thoughtful than, 'our hands were tied.'"

"I-I I'm sorry," Cornwell stammers hard in a rare moment of weakness and it causes her subordinate, Beauregard, to smile wide in disbelief, "We should discuss this in private, in my office," she recovers, "What's your name cadet?"

Bex stands tall and says with a cold bite on her tongue, "My name Samantha Bex, and I'm the only survivor of the Donatu V prison colony!" and with that, she turns and leaves the auditorium as cadets and officers gawk loudly to one another. Captain Cornwell tries to calm the audience and Commander Beauregard jumps to his feet to chase down Bex.

* * *

Bex half stomps, half runs down the main courtyard of the campus, past the Neo-Greek fountains and luxurious landscaping. She yanks her uniform's stuffy collar, ripping the fabric as she holds back hot tears.

" _Cadet Bex!_ " a voice calls from behind, " _Samantha Bex!"_

Bex turns and immediately recognizes the blonde and starts stomping off again, "I don't need another tongue lashing from you, Commander."

"No, wait! _Bex!_ " Beauregard rushes out in front and holds his arms out. He gasps for air and then looks up at her with a big opalescent smile, "You need a drink."

* * *

Bex and Beauregard laugh over bourbon in the corner of a quiet bar outside the Academy late in the evening. Kuade joins the pair but insists on Shirley Temples. He sits politely across the drunken pair as they muse about war stories and schooling, alienating the investigator from the majority of the conversation.

"...they were everywhere! Coming out the Captain's ears! It was awful! To this day, I'm still findin' hairs."

"And they're called _Tribblies_?" Bex giggles.

" _Tribbles_ , Tribbles," the handsome blonde corrects, "Like, old Earth hamsters."

"Ah yes. Hamsters, the _primitive_ Tribble," she teases.

" _Primitive?_ " Beauregard winces and runs his fingers through his long hair, "Ahh.. shi-I'm sorry. I can't believe I called you that. I swear! I had _no idea_ that you were actually from the past. I lose control of my mouth when I drink. It's uh, part of what got me grounded here at the academy for six months. You can kick me a little if it'll make you feel better."

"No big deal, I've heard worse," Bex assures him.

"The problem is, Mr. Beauregard is _always_ drinking," Kuade cuts sounding a little bored.

"Ay ay, _Detective_ ," the commander reacts offended, "It's _Charlie._ Everyone calls me Charlie. Not Mr. Beauregard, not Chucky, and sure as hell not Charlie Beau," he then inquires of Kuade, "And uhh, _Mr. Detective._ Who the hell are you anyway? You gotta name?"

"Kuade."

"A last name?"

"Department of Temporal Investigations."

Charlie shakes his head and points, "Y'know. I don't think that's your real name. Not a real department either. Never heard of it. Who is this guy?"

"An avid fan of mine. I think he's in love with me," Bex teases, slurring a little on her words, "Says he's trying to help me get _situated,_ but he's just taking advantage of my _vulnerable_ position," she suggests with her eyes.

"Ahhh! A wellsophile," Charlie plays along, "Got himself a time traveler to squeal over. We have all kinds nowadays."

Kuade blushes hard, "I have _no_ idea what you two are insinuating! I am a professional-"

"A professional where, exactly? You Section 31?" Charlie interrogates.

"No..." Kuade says stiffly.

"Starfleet?"

"Subsidiary."

"Who's your Captain?"

"Classified."

"Are you even a licensed PI? I don't remember you ever showing me your badge," Bex cocks an eyebrow.

"Well, of course not!" Kuade declares as if this is already well known information, "This is my very first temporal displacement investigation, Sam. _You_ will be the litmus test I submit for approval to the Federation Board! Dependent on your successful relocation, I hope to become an official agent, so that I may lend my skills in the decontamination of this timeline!"

"Ohhhh..." Bex sucks in air, "That's uhhh lotta pressure. You should've told me how important my part was..."

Kuade's eyes widen.

"Okay, okay. Be honest now," Charlie asks jokingly, "How bad you failin' your classes?"

She grimaces.

"It _can't_ be _that_ bad," Kuade says in horror.

Bex and Charlie laugh hysterically. The detective is not happy to see his client is such a lush.

"I'm ahead in combat training," Bex offers as condolences, but Kuade closes his eyes and sighs with grief.

"More brawn than brains, huh?" Charlie winks.

"Mm-hm. Well, I mean," she says while swallowing a burp, "I _am_ a bit over my head here. I feel a bit like a kid from the bottle rocket club visiting NASA."

Charlie hits his fist on the table and cackles.

"Samantha Bex! You should've told me you were funny. We coulda done this sooner," he flirts as he refills her shot glass with bourbon from his pint.

Bex shrugs modestly, "A skill I picked up."

Charlie's smile twitches a little, "Yeah? Picked that up on Donatu?"

Her expression drops and the atmosphere grows a little chilly.

"Is that where also you got the... the," he motions to the head.

She blushes as she touches her scar, "My crown?"

"Helluva battle trophy. Wish I had something as nice. The only thing I got from fightin' Klingons is an unquenchable thirst for liquor," he salutes with this glass and leans back in the booth, "So, you goin' back to Starfleet in the mornin'?"

Bex shrugs weakly, "Being in the future, I _do_ have new opportunities to explore... such as the galaxy. I've only seen a small bit of it, but maybe there are more hospitable planets out there."

"There are, but you dun have to join Starfleet to go see 'em."

"Maybe then, I just joined because I wanted answers."

"Did you get any answers?" Kuade finally has something to do and he switches on his tricorder.

"Unfortunately," she replies coldly.

"How many ships?" Charlie asks Bex.

"Hn?"

"How many ships intercepted your transmission?"

"Six."

" _Six!_ "

"Or-seven, if you count the one that actually saved me. All were within range. All had the power to penetrate the barrier and mount a rescue," Bex speaks soft and slow, "But... for almost two years, I had to lie to my crew- _my family_ , as to why those ships refused to help. Rescue was the only motivation we had left to keep fighting. So, I _lied_ , because Starfleet thought it better to honor a non-aggression pact that barred their ships from entering orbit... 124 people... killed by red tape..."

Charlie's face goes white.

Kuade looks up from his notes, "A trolley problem," he says grim and sets down his tricorder, "If you could save five lives at the expense of one by switching the tracks of a runaway train, could you do it?"

"That little ethics problem is on the final exit exam," Charlie points out, "Starfleet is at risk of startin' another war with the Klingons. Better to sacrifice the lives of the few for the survival of millions."

"I understand the logic behind their decision but doesn't help the bad taste in my mouth... Had I'd known how fruitless our efforts were, I would've spared my friends the burden of having any hope..." Bex moves to take a sip of her bourbon, but pauses, "In the end a Vulcan saved me," she downs the rest of the shot.

Charlie takes a deep breath and raises his mug, "To Bex's crew."

Kuade smiles meekly and raises his glass.

"Had I been on one of those ships..." Charlie nods slowly to himself after downing his drink, "I would've gone after you. I mean it. Don't matter what pact the Federation writes or what protocol the Prime Directive suggests... When someone's hurtin', you save 'em," he shrugs, "That simple. Starfleet used to be that simple, but it's too big now... lost its thoughtfulness..."

The table goes quiet while the three take a long quiet moment musing over thoughts of failure and disappointment.

Charlie chuckles to himself, "Hey," he gives his new friend a wild look, "You wanna do somethin' stupid?"

* * *

"Ughaah... Loralee! _Loree!_ " Around midnight, Charlie falls through an open window on the second floor of a Starfleet dormitory. His calls for a woman named Loralee are muffled in the shag carpet as he fails to find his footing. His boot is caught in the curtains and he's making quite a bit of noise. Officers peek out their doorways and gawk when they see the blonde haired cowboy well known throughout campus.

"Charlie!" A beautiful woman with long braided hair and black eyes tiptoes out of her room in a bathrobe, "What are you doing here?" she snaps at him, but her voice is naturally sweet sounding. She pulls the drunkard to his feet and the blushing officers in the hall giggle and return to their rooms.

"Loralee... you gotta stop me," he sniffs and wipes his nose, "Imma 'bout to do somethin' _really_ stupid."

"Oh no," the Betazoid regrets picking him off the floor, "I don't want any part. Go back to your apartment, Charlie. I'm not bailing you out again."

"No no no... Not prison. I'm not gonna live through this one. I'm done. It's over."

"Charlie. Charlie!" the young woman takes her old friend by the collar, scared by thoughts she sees swirling in his mind, "You've been drinking again and you're letting your insecurities get the best of you."

"No no! I'm gonna do it! I mean it! I'm gonna leave Starfleet," he swallows hard and takes a dramatic step back, "If they ain't gonna give me a Starship, Imma steal one myself. And if Cornwell doesn't like it, she can-"

"She can chase you down and shoot you herself. Yes," the woman interrupts, "I've heard this song a thousand times already."

Charlie smiles, "It's the way I've always wanted to die... 'Cept, now I might have a chance of outrunning that quack. I found someone as stupid as me," Charlie turns to Bex who has quietly slipped past the curtains only moderately intoxicated, "Lieutenant Loralee Roh.. meet Cadet Samantha Bex, the 21st-century human!"

Roh doesn't say anything, but shyly tightens the knot on her robe once she realizes Charlie's not alone.

"I know..." he notices his friend's disappointment, "Helluva century to live in."

"Are you done singing your swan song, because I have drills in the morning," Roh folds her arms and tries to look cross, but comes off only slightly inconvenienced.

"Why are they still makin' you do drills? You're a damned Lieutenant and the best pilot I know! You should be in the air flyin' not running on the ground doin' drills,"

"I've been accused of showing sympathy towards the enemy," she lifts an eyebrow in accusation.

"Hey hey, listen listen," he throws his arm around her petite shoulders and points at her chest, "Pilot..." points to himself, "Captain," he swings his arm out to Bex, "Security officer..."

"Ugh! _Ah.. uuff!_ " Kuade falls through the window, stands quickly to his feet and smooths out any wrinkles in his coat and hair, "Uhh... DTI Agent, Detective Kuade."

"...science officer," Charlie affirms, "All I need is an industrial sized medkit and I got every station," Charlie throws his arms wide, "My motley crew of unlikely personalities! Everything you need to run a Starship."

"A small one maybe. Can you two even shoot?"

Bex and Kuade answer with a shake of their heads.

"Easy fix, easy fix. Shootin's easy."

The empath huffs and knits her brows. His inebriated emotions mix in with her's and she struggles to distinguish between them.

Charlie gently cups her cheeks and brings his face closer to hers, "Feel me... I've been wantin' to do this for a looong time... We've talked about this. _Planned_ it. Starfleet ain't the same no more. It's bloated. Restrictive. Stodgy. Nothing but banquet halls and meetings and kowtowing to the Vulcans. Meanwhile, no one notices the Klingons mowin' down moon colonies and passenger's vessels, 'cause everyone's so tied up in the _big picture_. It ain't the blustrius Starfleet my grandfathers knew. It ain't the Starfleet I was promised," he voice goes soft, "It ain't the Starfleet I promised you."

Roh's inhibitions begin to fail. The empath drinks in her suffering friend's emotions and her black eyes begin to quiver.

"I wanna _help_ people. I want... to be a hero like my old man and his old man and _his old man_ ," he drops his hands from her cheeks, "Or so be it I might not be able to wait for Cornwell to pull the trigger."

The Betazoid takes a deep breath and gazes at Charlie in his worst drunken stupor yet. Never has she seen an officer less ready to command, less in control of his emotions. He won't even make it out of the system.

"Starfleet's been a big disappointment for me, too..." she rubs her forehead and sighs, "But, you need to sober up first."

* * *

Charlie drinks a strange blue gel from a medicinal bag as he runs along the side wall of a large hangar bay on the edge of campus. He squeezes the last of the sobering solutions from the pouch and tosses it on the ground in favor of his phaser. It's four in the morning, Los Angeles time. Most of the Academy is busy readying for the day's drills. Security is at its weakest this hour.

Charlie peers around the corner as Roh slides up next to him.

"I need to get into the main bay to open the hangar doors."

"Do you have the clearance?"

"Yeah, the problem is the guards."

Roh breaths hard as her heart suddenly begins to race, "Charlie, I don't... feel right. My head won't stop spinning and I can't stop sweating. I don't think this is possible. We're going to fail."

"You're in my head, Lieutenant," he says smoothly, "Get out and focus on your own emotions, not mine."

She closes her eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths.

"That's good," he gives her an encouraging smile, "How many guards are we lookin' at?"

After a moment of feeling her surroundings, "Five. Two at the front of the main hangar doors, and three inside _._ They're armed."

Charlie lifts a small receiver to his mouth, "You get all that?"

"Yeah," Bex answers a little breathless.

"Where are you?"

"Roof. There's an opened ventilation shaft up here."

"Perfect. We'll have to take out both groups of guards at the same time otherwise we risk someone callin' for backup. Loralee will go around to the other side of the building. On my mark, the pair of us will take out the guards in front. Bex, I need you to slip down into the hangar and take out all three of the guards around the ship _."_

"All three?" Bex hesitates, "...okay."

"I'll need you to signal me when you're in position. They will have phaser rifles, so you need to try and get behind them and stay close. Their weapons are useless in close combat. Once the guards out front are down, I'll enter through the pedestrian access and use my clearance to open the main doors. We'll have less than two minutes to get the ship up and runnin' once they're open. Is everything clear?"

"Roger," Bex affirms.

"Set phasers to stun."

"Good luck," Roh whispers before disappearing around the backside of the building.

Charlie takes a deep breath and leans against the wall. He's had a death grip on his phaser for the past several minutes. He relaxes and stretches his fingers and notices a very strong tremor in his dominant hand.

* * *

Bex crawls slowly to the ventilation window up top the hangar building. It's warm this night and the cooling system blows full blast, creating a cloud of steam. She could use this to her advantage and slip down. There's an access ramp about 12 feet below the vent opening that leads to a two-story staircase. She can hide behind the supply crates at the landing of the stairs. She just needs to wait for the three pacing guards to be positioned to the far side of the ship. That way a blind spot is formed and-

"I hope you know how unorthodox this is," Kuade whispers in Bex's ear.

"GAHH! What are you doing here!?" she snaps.

"Observing and documenting your progress with readjusting to the 23rd century. My current assessment is _not good!_ " his giant brown eyes grow wide with annoyance.

"Then why don't you alert Starfleet security? You could be charged as an accomplice, you know. I thought you wanted to be an investigator."

" _No_ , as a matter of fact, I rather _loathe_ that job prospect at the moment," he hisses, "You're not making this easy for me, Sam. You were _supposed_ to stay in Starfleet and graduate with an _earned_ spot on a Starship. Not a _stolen_ one."

"But you still haven't tried to stop me," Bex leans over the window to check the guards' positions.

Kuade grits his teeth and pulls her back, "I... I _can't._ I can't interfere with your choices. It's against the rules."

"What rules?"

" _THE_ rules. The rules that govern all of time and space. I cannot hinder nor force you to do anything. I can try and _reason_ with you, but it is ultimately up to you what you want to do with the rest of your life. If you want to play hero with a drunken cowboy and a telepathically immature Betazoid, I can only reiterate to you _how bad of an idea that is!_ "

"Sam! You still there?" Charlie checks in.

Bex smiles and puts a hand on Kuade's shoulder, "Thank you for your input, detective," and with her confidence restored, she swings down through shaft and lands with a rather loud _thud._ Luckily, the AC vents are humming and she can quickly crouch down the runway and stairs without detection. At about halfway down the steps, she hops over the railing to land behind several large supply crates.

She pants hard from having to take shallow breaths on the way down. A gap between the crates serves as her spy hole. The ship she's assisting in liberating is not exactly a Star _SHIP_ per say, more like a very large shuttle. It's a Nova-class prototype scout ship about 100 meters long, shaped like an arrowhead, with smoothed edges and deep navy blue finish. It's also stealth and Cornwell's personal favorite.

"I'm in position."

"Right... _You_ give the signal," Charlie instructs.

Bex's heart flutters a little when she hears this. Giving her the command to initiate an attack isn't really supposed to be some great showing of respect, but why does it make her so nervous? A cloud of doubt rumbles above her head and sobers her thoughts.

 _What the hell am I doing? I'm about to commit grand larceny with Charlie of all people! Wouldn't it be so funny if Charlie, the man who was a jerk to me before, convinced me to steal a spacecraft in some convoluted attempt at hazing? Does hazing even still exist in the 23rd century?_

The lost time traveler mulls these thoughts over in her mind as she watches her target through the crates. The two officers on the opposite side of the ship have their back turned as they talk. The third officer lazily paces around the closer side and then turns to look at the ship.

"Now!" she gives the signal before her brain really commits to the idea. Clamoring over the crates, she sets her phaser to stun but doesn't trust her aim, so rushes over to the first officer and shoots point blank in the neck. Momentum still going, she slides under the ship just as the other two officers alert to the muffled shout of their comrade. She punches one officer in the face and elbows the other. They tussle around a bit as the guards' guns are too bulky to be properly used so close to their target. The smaller of the officer blacks out first, but the second stumbles back, gripping tightly to consciousness so that he can call for backup.

 _POOOAWW!_

Charlie shoots a stunned bolt into the officer's chest from an impressive 100 feet away. A wave of relief washes over Bex when she sees both him and Roh sprint across the bay.

" _Come on! Get that ship open!"_ he demands and sprints up the steps that lead to the control room.

Bex rounds the ship and falters a bit. She never finished basic training and thus, has no idea how to open a cargo bay door.

"It's there!" Roh scampers over and pulls a lever on the underside and a ramp begins to open to the belly of the ship.

Meanwhile, Charlie beats his fingers into a control panel, frantically searching for the correct icon needed, "Computer! Open hangar bay doors!"

"Voice confirmation," the computer requests.

"Commander Charles Beauregard the Fourth of Starship _USS Enterprise!_ "

"Access denied."

" _What?_ Do it again! Commander Charles Beauregard of the _USS Enterprise!"_

"Access denied."

"Ahh, _dammit,_ Cornwell!"

Roh jumps from station to station inside the ship, switching on panels of lights and schematics as the engines begin their howl.

" _Roh!_ Get those photon torpedoes ready tah fire!" Charlie hails this ship over the comm system.

"Torpedos?" the young pilot questions in confusion.

Charlie slides down the stair railing and shouts at the ship, "We're gonna have to blow the damn doors open!" the cowboy then runs between the various supply walls and steals boxes of medkits, tools, and weapons. Bex helps with this effort but is thwarted by none other than Kuade.

"Whoa, whoa!" the detective pulls Bex off the loading ramp, "Where are you going? You can't get on that ship!"

"Wha- _Kuade!?_ "

"You could go to prison for _life_ , Samantha, or worse, Charlie could get you killed! Stay in Starfleet! Complete the program."

"And then what? Let some other captain get me killed if I don't age out of the Academy first?"

"Then go somewhere else! Find work here on Earth and settle down. Just live your life in peace. You've already had your adventure."

"I've only stepped off this planet _once_ and it was absolute hell."

"C'mon, Bex! What's the holdup?" Charlie shouts as he climbs the ramp.

"Answer me this, _Detective Kuade._ Is there _any_ possible chance that I can go back home? To _my_ time?"

Kuade's eyes widen and his mouth drops open, but he does not answer.

"Bex! Get on the ship!" Charlie demands.

"Your hesitation speaks volumes, detective," Bex turns to go up the ramp, but Kuade stops her once more.

He holds her by the arms, squeezing firmly as he struggles to explain, "It's not that it's _im_ possible to get you back... It's just that... there are _rules_ ," he shakes his head, "It could ruin everything!"

"Then I have my answer. I'm sorry, Kuade. I know you wanted to wrap this up quickly and move on to your next case, but Starfleet didn't work out."

The engine kicks up and blows dust and wind at the arguing pair.

" _Cooome ooooon!_ " Charlie yells.

"You're my only case!" Kuade yells over the roar of the engines.

"What!?" Bex blocks her eyes from debris.

"I have no other clients! You're the first reintroduction case study!"

"If that's true, then how can any of this be unorthodox? No ones' set the standard yet!"

Kuade smiles a little at her response.

The cargo ramp begins to retract and Bex steps up onto it leaving Kuade behind in the wind storm. She turns back to look at him and watches his perfectly parted hair and pressed suit tear in the wind, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Enjoy being the third wheel!" Kuade shouts as the cargo ramp door shuts, although a smile still crosses his face.

The defeated detective backs away from the ship as it's torpedo cannons light up and blasts four orange wads of heat and energy at the hangar bay doors. The entire building booms and shakes violently, but when the dust clears, the doors a merely dented.

Charlie and his crew sit cockeyed in their seats and stare for a moment in disbelief. It's going to take several rounds to break through.

"...a-again!" Charlie demands.

"Someone probably heard that..." Bex points out.

"This isn't going to work!" Roh complains under her breath but continues to ready the cannons.

"Well then, get those torpedos ready to fire on whoever they sic on us!"

Bex unfastens her harness and sets her phaser to kill. She exhales as she realizes that she may have to fight her way out of Starfleet.

"Voice confirmation," the computer requests over the shuttle's comm.

"Detective Kuade, Agent for the Department of Temporal Investigation."

"Confirmed."

The hangar bay doors slowly open causing debris to dislodge from the ceiling. Bex stands from her seat to look out the top of the bridge window. Kuade smiles down at her from the control room with an pride in his eyes.

The Cargo bay door opens just far enough to allow the detective to climb aboard with a little bit of Bex's help. His suit now torn and his hair sticking up from the engine blast.

"I like the look," Bex pokes fun, "But I thought you weren't supposed to interfere."

"Well," Kuade leans on his elbow while lying on the shuttle floor, "My probationary position _does_ come with some TS clearance, and I can't very well let you rot in prison," he huffs with a grin.

"He's curious," Roh pipes up over the comm as the ship slowly ascends up and out of the hangar, "I can feel him from here. He wants to see what will happen."

Kuade's eyes go big and his cheeks go flush.

"Better strap in, you two," Charlie warns through the comm, "We're gonna have to warp our way outta here. Oh! And welcome to the _USS Marquis,_ " he turns to his pilot, "Rumor says this ship comes equipped with an experimental multi-warp hyperdrive. I say we try this feature out. Commander Roh, warp factor 8! _Let's fly!_ " he exclaims as armored Starfleet officers flood the hangar, unloading their rifles at the departing ship.

The _Marquis_ engines burn hot with blue as the Marquida take off like a bat out of Starfleet hell and into space. The thunder of the engines quickly passes and replaced with the wail of hundreds of campus alarms.


	3. Ch 02 - The 267 Year Old Human

**Chapter 2 - The 267 Year Old Human**

During an attempted rescue mission, the Marquida come face to face with Starfleet's latest and greatest technological marvel.

* * *

 **NOTE:** The _Marquis_ and Marquida in this story are not the same _Maquis_ of the 24th century in canon Star Trek. Although they share a similar name and hatred for Starfleet, the word 'Marquis' is just a word that has been used multiple times throughout history.

 **TIME:** The following happens several hours before the episode _Context is for Kings_. The Klingon war is in full swing and Burnham sits on a prison transport shuttle.

My characters...

 **Samantha Bex:** 29, born in the year 1988, abducted in 2017 and displaced two and half centuries later on Donatu V. How she got there and how she managed to survive this Klingon infested planet is unknown.

 **Detective Kuade:** 40ish, not his real name, Agent for the Department of Temporal Investigations. Has questionable motives and a bizarre fascination with Sam Bex. Claims he is assisting in her relocation to the 23rd century.

 **Charles Beauregard IV:** 36, son of several decorated Captains, a drunk. He's a major frustration within Starfleet and struggles to follow regulation and protocol. Gloryhound with a death wish who knows Gabriel Lorca.

 **Loralee Roh:** 22, Betazoid, ex-heiress to a powerful family. Living secluded in high society has atrophied her telepathic and empathic powers. She joined Starfleet in order to expand her worldview, but finds it overwhelming.

* * *

" _Shields down to 80%!"_

The _USS Marqui_ skids across the stars straining its impulse engines. Tailing behind them is a Romulan Bird of Prey spitting plasma energy torpedoes at its black-clad mark. A bolt of plasma collides with the back end of the scout vessel causing its shield to light up and vibrate violently.

" _Direct hit!"_ Bex grips her console as the cabin shakes from impact, " _Shields down to 56%!"_ she reads.

" _Divert all power to rear shields and rear torpedos!"_ Charlie directs in the seat at the communications and weapons console to the left of Bex.

Bex enters commands into her operations and scanner console.

" _Firing torpedos!"_

The _Marquis_ returns fire at its pursuer. One torpedo hits square in the middle, while the other slips past the top of the Romulan craft.

"Their shields are down by 10%," Bex reads off her scans.

"Damnit!" Charlie curses, " _Commander Roh!_ "

"She's going as fast as she can, Captain!" Roh hastily taps at her hull console at the front of the bridge.

"They're firing again!" Bex warns just seconds before the ship is hit.

"Romulan bastards won't give up," Charlie complains.

"Well, we _did_ just steal from their weapon's hold," Bex reminds.

"Bridge to Engineering," Charlie switches on the intercom button on his armrest, "Bridge to Engineering, you gotta get those warp engines online!"

 _Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!_

"I can't Captain!" Kuade pleads down in the engine room, "That would burn out our warp drives. The ship can't take it!" he runs over to a flashing red panel and slaps the screen to keep those annoying alarms from going off.

 _Whoo! Whoo! Wh-_

"If we keep up this pace, the engines are going to blow!" he warns.

"This craft is capable of warp 8!" Charlie argues.

"Yes, but we're carrying well above capacity here!"

"How many escape pods do we have?"  
"What? Uh.. four!"

"Well, we only need three. Get rid of the fourth!" Charlie demands.

"Wha-are you _serious?_ "

" _Yes!_ We need to make up the weight! Release the escape pod!"

Kuade darts his eyes a bit as he digs in his brain for the instructions on how to launch an escape pod from the engineering room. He refers to a panel on the back wall of the closet sized room and types in the commands.

"Warning!" the computer chimes in, "Launching escape pod at current warp levels will destroy pod. Warning! Launching-"

"Yes, yes yes! I hear you!" Kuade complains and launches the pod anyways. It shoots out uncontrollably from the tail end of the ship and crashes into the Romulan vessel causing a massive explosion.

"Their shields are down by %20!" Bex exclaims and the engines pick up.

"Power down our rear shields!" Charlie tells her.

"Wha... A-are you sure?"

"Yes, don't question me. Power them down!" he turns his attention to Roh, "Roh! Evasive maneuvers. Warp 8!"

Bex does as she's told and the engines kick a little harder. At the same time, Roh enters switches on the experimental multi-warp drive. The Romulan vessel falls behind and attempts to shoot out one last torpedo, but it misses and the _Marquis_ blurs across the stars.

"They're no longer pursuing us!" Bex says excitedly.

"Good! Let's put some distance between us!"

After several thousand kilometers, the _Marquis_ slows and returns to impulse engines. The inside of the ship smells like burning wires, and the lights on the panels flicker. The shell of the hull whines in complaint as the once pristine paint job has been more than buffed and burnt away. The crew takes a moment to catch their breaths and allow the ship to float gently with the stars of the Neutral Zone.

Charlie sighs, "Excellent work, team. Don't think we were supposed to survive that... Ughh... Let's get started on repairs," he says softly, "I'll let the Ferengi know that we'll be a little late for the drop off."

Bex sighs little harsh.

"I know you don't like it," he says to her, brushing his now chin length hair out of his face, "But maintaining this ship and her crew costs money, and Klingon weapons are at high dollar now thanks to the war. We gotta make ends meet even if it means stealin' from the Romulans."

Bex lays her head back in her seat and takes a deep breath, "I know. Cost of being Marquida."

He smiles and squeezes her forearm.

 _Beep beep beep!_

"Hn? There's a distress call," Charlie notices an incoming transmission.

"Out here?" Bex questions.

"Yeah, about 30,000 kilometers west of us. Hold on, bringing it up," the Captain taps his console, "It's pre-recorded. Two days old."

A very fuzzy hologram of a humanoid face lights up on the viewscreen, "...please! _Ssss_... help... _kksss_! Vessel... _ttzzz!_ " the recording is impossible to understand.

"I'll try adjusting the frequency a bit," Charlie mumbles to himself.

"Mm. There! It's clearer now," Roh assists.

"Please! _Sss_.. Send help. We are the passenger vessel H3T17. We were on route to Kazis IX in the Neutral Zone," the recording is coming from a young human woman, "My husband... my husband wanted _zzzt..._ a shortcut through Klingon space.. _Ssshh_... crashed! Please, help us!"

"...it's a trap," Bex points out.

" _Obviously_ , but who'd lay a trap way out here?" Charlie ponders.

"Klingons or someone after Klingons," Bex cautions.

"Could be Romulans," Roh suggests.

"Or maybe it's the real thing," Charlie gives his crew a sympathetic look, "Just a couple of dumb tourists needing a lift out of a war zone."

"They're too close to the Klingon-Federation border," Roh checks her map, "This is a direct violation of the Federation of Planets. They risk expulsion sending out that distress call."

"Hmm..." Charlie rubs his unshaven chin, "Death or imprisonment. Difficult choice. Do we have enough fuel to scout the crashed vessel _and_ make it to the Ferengis for the trade off?"

" _WHAT! Uh-Buh-Nnoo!"_ Kuade sputters over the comm system from below deck while he blunders his way around broken engines and overheated drives, "Absolutely not! Your little cat and mouse game with the Romulan's depleted our dilithium reserves!" there's a loud crash as some equipment explodes. Kuade ducks the sparks and continues with his rant, "Not to mention we're carrying almost 2000 kilos of illegal Klingon technology. The ship's too heavy! I'd be surprised if we even made it passed Ajilon Prime!"

"That escape pod we chucked weighed about 1800 kilos," Charlie replies cooly.

Kuade is silent on the line and makes new calculations, " _UGH!_ You have... 30 minutes! _At the most!_ Otherwise, we call a tow-ship," he finally answers exasperated.

"That's all we need," Charlie is satisfied, "Commander Roh, do you have the coordinates of that signal?"

"Yes, sir."

"Get us within range, 100 kilometers."

"Aye aye, sir."

The _Marquis_ smoothly glides behind a large asteroid about 100 kilometers away from the wrecked passenger vessel. From there, the crew can see the carnage clearly from the view screen while remaining hidden. The crashed ship is a cool gray color and is very long like a femur.

"There it is. Some kind of luxury passenger vessel," Bex proceeds to dissect the scene, "Based on the spread of the debris patterns, the vessel's been out here maybe 3... 4 days? Looks like it collided with that asteroid field."

"Right," Charlie encourages, "Let's go to yellow alert, shields down."

"Would you like me to scan the vessel?" Bex offers.

"No. I don't want to alert them to our position just yet. Shut off the engines, too."

The _Marquis_ is one-of-a-kind craft capable of evading almost all scans and radar without the need of an energy draining cloaking device. It's capable of reaching a warp factor of 8 when the time calls for such maneuvers, and despite its size, has a fully functioning transporter beam stage. The ship must be commanded in a way to make use of such features in order to be completely clandestine and uncatchable. Thankfully, Charlie and his crew are well practiced.

"Commander Roh, is this a good enough distance?" Charlie asks his pilot.

Roh smiles, "Yes, Captain. This will do."

"Proceed."

Part of the ships covert nature can be attributed to Loralee Roh, not only for her talents as a pilot, but also her psionic powers.

"Quiet on the bridge," Charlie and Bex power down their panels and screens. Roh takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and clears her mind. She feels her three crewmates; Charlie the maverick, Bex the jaded and Kuade the cipher, who tries his best not to be felt by constantly filling his mind with complicated formulas. Roh then feels for the passenger vessel hovering several thousand feet in front of her. For several minutes, all she feels is the cold emptiness of space. It stretches out limitless all around making her feel weightless and dizzy, but eventually, there feels a slight touch of warmth. If she could describe it, it would be similar to a small candle in the aftermath of a blizzard. She follows this warmth and then feels another warm presence followed by another and another.

"5 humanoids," she says allowed, "I do not feel distress or fear. They are alive."

"Good work, Loree" Charlie finally breaths, "That ship only has about 4 days worth of life support. We leave now, there's no hope for them," he says this more for Bex's benefit.

She has reservations, "I'm still not convinced that this isn't a trap."

"How convinced are you?" he asks, while leaning back in his chair.

"Fifty-fifty."

"Well, I'm a gamblin' man and I say those are pretty good odds."

"Are you kidding? You're the worst gambler I know," she frowns.

"You know my policy. As long as the odds are better than 20%, we go in and help whoever needs it. That's why we're out here. Why we left Starfleet; to help those that the Federation ignores," Charlie looks warmly at his first officer. He finds it odd that even though she was once part of that 20% on Donatu V, she still carries doubt when it comes to helping others in similar odds. He allows her to freely express any concerns she may have, not only as an exercise in her leadership but also in appreciation of pessimism's life saving ability.

Bex takes a deep breath, "We don't hail."

"We won't," Charlie agrees.

"Cloak and Dagger. We go in under their radar and secure the shuttle. Cut off any communications they may have with anything nearby."

"Absolutely," he smiles and crosses his arms.

"...I go in."

He tilts his head and purses his lips together, "You've done the last three away missions."

"This isn't a playground where we all take turns on the merry-go-round. The Captain stays with the ship."

"Don't use 'Captain' like that. We're all equal here. You, me, Loree and even you Kuade," Charlie addresses the whole ship.

"Aw, thanks," Kuade answers sarcastically over the comm.

"We are all _vital_ to the proper function of this ship. No one's station is higher than anyone else's. I may have more experience than you when it comes to interstellar combat, but we all deserve to stay and go down with this ship."

Bex narrows her eyes at him, "Fifteen to Eighty-Five. Against."

"What's that?"

"Your survival odds."

"Ye have so little faith in me?"

"No, I have that little faith in that right hand of yours," she points to Charlie's hand that he tries to hide tucked under his arm, "It's shaking again. Has been for the past 2 weeks. I know you've been trying to hide it."

Roh, who quietly watches the two argue, looks down at her lap.

Charlie smiles weakly and nods his head slowly, "Side effect of sobriety, but I can manage," the girls are not convinced, "Ok. New proposition," he offers, " _I_ go down and secure the passenger vessel. If this _is_ a trap, wherever its mothership is will decloak. You beam aboard _that_ one."

The Captain and First Officer study each other for a long moment, attempting to come up with the next best possible scenario.

"Uhh.. guys," Kuade interrupts over the intercom, "Just a reminder. The life support system still burns fuel."

"Deal," Bex agrees and she and Charlie smile at one another.

"Kuade!" Charlie addresses the comm, "Meet me down in the transporter room. Loree, monitor my vital signs."

"Aye, Captain," Roh nods.

Bex and Charlie leave the bridge and head down a very cramped hallway only 3 feet wide and 5½ feet tall. The ladders are Charlie's least favorite because the tall cowboy constantly scrapes his back against the opening.

" _Arg!_ I can't wait to get off this damned thing and stretch my legs," he growls. The transporter room is a mere 8x8 foot wide and only has 2 small stages. Currently, only one of the stages functions while the other spews sparks, "What the hell is _this_? Kuade! I thought you fixed this!"

"I'm in the process!" Kuade yells from behind as he drags cables and tools into the transporter room, "That Teenaxi colony really did a number on the ship. Need I remind you, I am a theoretical physicist, _not_ an engineer," The detective's hair hasn't been brushed in weeks and sticks up wildly in all directions. His once mustard colored coat has browned with grease after extensive ship repairs. He still speaks in that transatlantic accent, though thankfully, he's not nearly as pedantic.

"The transporters _are_ working, right?" Charlie reaffirms.

" _One_ still functions, because _I am amazing_ ," Kuade drops his supplies and begins realigning the transporter dishes.

"Good. Sam," Charlie turns to his First Officer and pulls a phaser off a weapons wrack, "Keep an eye on my vitals, if there are any changes, you switch on that long-range scanner and find the mothership."

"Yes, sir," Bex turns to leave but stops, "Be careful," she implores, placing a hand on his chest before returning to the bridge.

Charlie stands up on the one transporter platform not covered in junk and kicks off some overlapping wires, "The mess, Kuade..."

The detective continues adjusting pistons and he types in coordinates for the wrecked shuttle, "Okay, your drop off point will be towards the backend of the ship. The crew is most likely towards the main bridge where the life-support system is the strongest," he leans over to Charlie and adjusts the transporter dish one last time to ensure it is actually pointing right.

"Hey," Charlie catches him by the shoulder, "Just make sure I get all my molecules back, okay?"

Kuade nods several times and steps backs to the main control panel, "Energize!" the _Marquis_ Captain's body beams yellow as a funnel of streaks spin rapidly around him.

* * *

"Captain off the ship," Kuade informs the girls as they wait on edge on the bridge. It's always tense when a team member is separated.

"How's he looking?" Bex asks Roh.

"He is safely aboard," she answers while concentrating, eyes closed.

"Are you getting a strong reading?"

"Quite strong," Roh smiles, "Our psionic bond is starting to rival that of my mother's," she admits.

"Really?"

"Yes. The effectiveness of my powers is dependant on many factors; the closeness of my relationships being one of them. Usually, the strongest bonds are between parents and children or lovers, but, these past months living with you all has greatly matured my abilities."

Living in such cramped quarters can force any mismatch of personalities to bond. The _Marquis_ even lacks a proper Captain's quarter; just two sets of bunk beds crudely built into the hallway behind the bridge. Somewhere hidden within the hundreds of cases of illegal supplies and weapons hide a food synthesizer and a stand up sterilization chamber. Bex once dubbed the _Marquis_ as the _Space-Winnebago_ , though, not all of the crew could appreciate the joke.

"My link with you is also quite strong as well," Roh explains.

"Yeah? Even Kuade?"

Roh smiles, "He avoids me, but I do still feel him."

"I've been meaning to ask you a few things about him."

"I know you have, but I must warn you. He _is_ quite the quagmire-," Roh breathes in sharply as her eyes begin to water.

" _Shit._ Kuade! We need that long-range scanner," Bex responds Roh's sudden change in temperament.

"10 seconds," Kuade answers over the comm.

"Ambushed... He's hurt," she shares in his pain, a consequence of her telepathic monitoring, "I feel... confusion. Anger," Roh explains frowning her eyebrows, "There's a familiarity there... I think it's... it's Starfleet?"

"Starfleet!?"

"Diverting all power to scanner. I'm pulling off life support to maximize the scanning distance. Hold your breaths," Kuade instructs.

The ship goes dark and the oxygen cuts off. Bex taps commands into her console and flips up a radar projection of the surrounding 100 AUs of space. In the center of the map is a large triangle denoting the _Marquis_. A ring bursts from this triangle as the long-range scanner begins its slow work of scanning for enemy ships. The crashed shuttle appears on the map next to the _Marquis_ and the ring continues expanding out. Bex and Roh both watch eagerly as the ring slowly stretches, wider and wider picking up the presence of asteroids and nebula until it reaches the edge of the map.

"... there's nothing!" Bex exclaims.

"What? You sure?" Kuade switches life support back on.

"Loree, are you sure he's telling you it's Starfleet?" Bex asks.

"I-I... I don't know, but he's scared. I haven't felt this kind of fear since the night we stole the ship."

"What's the likelihood of a Starfleet vessel attempting a bait and switch this close to the Klingon border?" Bex asks Kuade.

" _Very_ low," he answers, "It's not really like them."

"How fast is their fastest Starship?"

"Last time I was onboard, the _Enterprise_ was capable of warp factor 7," Roh points out.

"And based on our scan, _if_ there is a Starship out there, it'll take it less than 20 minutes to reach us," Kuade calculates.

"Can you beam Charlie back on board?"

"No. The wrecked vessel's shields are up," Kuade replies.

"Since we used the long-range scanner, we are no longer cloaked," Roh explains, "We risk being boarded ourselves."

"If we put up our shields now, we won't have enough power left to get to our rendezvous point with the Ferengis," Kuade warns.

Bex thinks for a moment and then leaves her seat, "Loree, you have the comm," she leaves the bridge and runs down the cramped corridor to the transport room, "Kuade! I'm going down there."

"What!" Kuade pops up from behind a console with wires and tubes draped around his neck, "You can't go down there!"

"I'm getting Charlie back and restraining our enemy before they attempt to beam aboard the _Marqui._ "

"Like hell you are!" he stomps over to Bex who double-checks the coordinates on the transporter screen, "There is a possible _Starfleet_ vessel on its way here. We need to leave _now!_ "

"We can't leave without our Captain. We're _not_ arguing about this."

"Forget Charlie! He was the one who willing walked into a trap!"

" _I_ was willing to walk into that same trap and I am the only one capable of securing that shuttle. You still have that prototype combadge, right? Can it circumvent and find a gap in the shuttle's shields?"

"A passenger vessel? Yes, probably. Their shields don't have as wide a range of frequencies."

"Good. I'll give it Charlie so you can pinpoint his coordinates and get him back on the _Marquis_ ," Bex strategizes and ties some kind of short sword sheath around her waist.

"B-but, I only have the _one_ badge! I won't be able to get you both back in time!"

" _Then I will secure the shuttle_ ," she reiterates, "Once I do, I'll drop the shields and you can beam me aboard the old fashioned way. Yes?"

"Yes, but-" Kuade reasserts, " _No!_ Need I remind you, that while you've been galavanting across the galaxy playing vigilante, _you_ are still my client I am still warranted over your life and safety. I _cannot_ allow you to be captured by a Starfleet vessel and thus, I will _not_ be beaming aboard that shuttle."

"Kuade. You're interfering again," Bex warns, "Our Ferengi contacts will only negotiate with our Captain _._ It will be _far_ easier for me extract Charlie off _that_ vessel than it would be a Starship," she slips on some kind of bizarre alien tribal mask.

Kuade bites his lip and huffs, " _Assisting_ you is a still interfering."

"Just get me back once I drop the shields, okay lover boy?" she holds out her hand for the prototype badge. The detective growls and reluctantly digs into his coat pocket for a Starfleet badge arrowhead pried open with its prototype board exposed.

"Thank you," she says before tapping the badge to her chest, "Energize!"

Bex's face begins to glow bright green as her body dissolves into millions of sparks. When she vanishes, quiet returns to the _Marquis_ and Kuade can finally take a deep breath. When he turns to return to his work, he's greeted by the Commander Roh's grim face.

He stiffens as if in fear, "Loralee..."

She stares at him, reading his thoughts, "The guilt will kill you one day, Kuade. Get them back."

* * *

Charlie, beaten and bruised, is handcuffed with his arms behind his back and dragged to the shuttle bridge. It's a small craft, smaller than the _Marquis,_ and has a two-person cockpit. He kneels on the ground behind an olive skinned woman sitting in the Captain's chair.

"Of all the millions of ships and trillions of creatures in the galaxy I could have lured in," she says in a smooth voice, "Never thought it would be Starfleet's most wanted man," she turns in her chair to face Charlie with an armed phaser. She motions for her men to wait outside the tiny cockpit. She is a very beautiful, muscular woman with obsidian black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. There is a clear 'no B.S.' aura about her.

Charlie turns up the charm, "Captain Charles Beauregard at your service," he bows his head.

"Oh, I've heard _all_ about you _and_ your antics back at the Academy."

"Am I everything you expected and more?"

"Less," she doesn't break her stern composer, "Charles Beauregard, I am Chief Security Officer Ellen Landry and you are under arrest."

"Starfleet!" Charlie laughs, "The hell are you doing out here? Didn't one of you idiots just start a war with the Klingons? You tryin' to stir up more trouble?"

"Where's the _Marquis_?" Landry asks calmly.

"Scrapped. Sold to the Ferengi about three months back."

"Bull. Where's the ship?"

"Gone. I told you. Bug the Ferengi if you want it back so bad."

"Don't make me _smack_ that pretty face of yours. You beamed in from somewhere and I _will_ find your ship whether you cooperate or no-"

 _Beep! Beep! Beep!_

The console behind Landry lights up. The shuttle is being scanned.

"Ah! Found it. You should've told your crew to save their dilithium. They won't find anything else out here."

"Which I _do_ find rather peculiar. You plannin' on havin' me all alone to yourself for a while?" he winks.

"Captain," Landry taps her flips open her communicator and can't help but smile, "I have quite the catch here for you. Bit of a talker, this one."

"Charlie Beau!" comes a voice from the faux-wrecked comm system, "Never thought I'd see your face again."

Charlie's ears perk up to the sound of a voice he hadn't heard in a very long time, "Captain Gabriel Lorca!" he lifts his head and laughs, "Doin' a little fishin', are we?"

"Yeeeah!" Lorca mocks as a blue holographic projection of his face lights up in the viewscreen behind Landry, "Was hopin' to catch me some Klingons," there's a slight unintentional twang in his voice, "Looks like Starfleet's most wanted man will have to suffice. Cornwell will be pleased, nonetheless."

"Oh, I'm sure the Cornwell is _very_ pleased with you," Charlie accuses with a wicked grin and is promptly backhanded by Landry.

"Don't worry about the _Marquis_ , I'll take good care of her," Lorca threatens, "Though, what you've put her through, _any_ TLC would do her good."

Charlie spits blood on the floor, "You ain't gettin' my ship."

"Well, that's what you think, cowboy," Lorca shuts off the transmission.

Charlie chuckles to himself, "By the time Lorca arrives, I'll already be good 'n gone," he winks, "Sorry 'bout that, sweetheart, but this fish is going back in the lake."

"And how will you accomplish _that_ exactly?" she's not impressed.

" _AAAAAHH!_ " one of Landry's offers screams from the hall followed by several loud crashes.

Charlie grins satisfied, "You don't think I became the most wanted man in all of Starfleet all on my own do you?"

The Security Officer drops her guard and he takes advantage by jumping to his feet and slamming his body into her's.

"UUGH!" he smashes her against a control panel and she drops her phaser. She returns a counterattack by swinging her arms just shy of the cowboy's face. He quickly dodges several rounds of punches, but his hands are still locked behind his back, which makes it difficult to maintain balance. She lands a few hits to his nose and then roundhouses him to the ground.

" _Ahaahk!_ " his wrists break his fall when he lands on Bex's feet when she slides open the Bridgeway doors.

"What..." Landry says almost disgusted when she finds her new visitor wearing a half-mask with ridges that mimic a Klingon's.

The masked Bex looks down at her captain and slaps his chest with the modified badge, "One to beam up," she instructs to Charlie's surprise. His body glows green and disappears, extracted safely from the wrecked vessel.

Bex returns her focus to the Commander and reveals a three foot, three prong black beating stick that cleared the hallway. She twists her wrist and the prongs begin to pulse violently with red energy. Landry steps back in fear when she realizes the detailed engravings along this rod are of Klingon origin. She eyes her phaser on the ground and lunges for it, but Bex swings her spear wildly and strikes the Commander on the cheek, sending an electrified volt through her body.

" _GAAAAHHH!"_ Landry falls back on the control panel again. She palms her cheek which now smells of burning flesh and dodges as Bex slams her rod down again and again. Glass and sparks fly as Landry uses the various chairs, panels, and screens as shields. The bridge is very cramped and although her rod is short, it is still difficult for Bex to strike with full muscle power. Eventually, her rod gets wedged in a dashboard and Landry takes the moment to strike back.

* * *

Charlie beams aboard the _Marquis_ and Kaude helps him to his feet.

"Get her back on board, _now!_ " he shoves Kuade off and limps down the hall towards the bridge, "Commander Roh! _Loree!_ " he stumbles onto the bridge while babying his broken wrist, "Get those engines ready to burn! We have a Starfleet ship inbound, 15 minutes!"

"Uh, Captain..." distracted Roh stares out the hull window.

Charlie stands next to her and they watch a lightning storm congregate a few thousand kilometers in front of the _Marquis_. They can clearly see space bend and bulge around this storm as a chunk of twisted silver emerges from the light. It's a starship! But unlike any starship, they've ever seen. The normally singular saucer has been split into two rings that twirl around each other like an old Earth gyroscope toy. The entire ship spins on its X-axis as if flipped by a giant hand and then comes to a sudden, hard stop.

"What kind of warp was that?" Charlie's voice waivers in fear.

Roh mutters to herself, "Something _that_ big should not spin _that_ fast-" and quickly inhales as she feels a sudden burst of excitement bloom in her chest. She's in empathy with Kuade who unexpectedly emerged out from below deck. Eyes wide and unblinking, he stares just inches from the hull window at the impossible Starship before him. He reads the hull, _NCC-1031 Discovery._

"We _have_ to get on that ship."

* * *

For a brief moment, while blocking Landry's wild punches and shoves, Bex can feel the space around her tighten and compress. The wrecked ship groans in sympathy for this pressure change. As she absorbs the rather impressive power of the Commander's hits, Bex's eyes blink in natural reaction.

 _Blink._ Empty space.

 _Blink._ A ship.

"What!?"

 _No way! That's faster than the Marquis,_ she marvels to herself, _Why the hell is it spinning!?_

Landry takes advantage of the hesitation and punches Bex in the side of the head, cracking the Klingon tribal mask and sending her into darkness.

* * *

Bex admits, she feels more excited than she should to walk down the wide halls of her first Crossfield-class Starship. The _Discovery_ 's size and technology overshadows the _Marquis_ as does the crew. 200 officers wonder the ship, all wearing dark blue Starfleet uniforms sheathed on the sides with metal scales. Commander Landry escorts the Marquida down various corridors to the lower deck brig. Crewmen poke their heads out from the doorways and around corners to gape at the prisoner precession. Everyone recognizes Charlie.

"That's Ex-Commander Charles Beauregard," they whisper to one another, "He has the gall to show his face, the traitor..." Charlie can't help by smile smugly despite his swollen face.

Roh feels less than enthused, "There are a lot of mixed feelings on this ship," she seems stressed out by the conflictions.

"I thought the _Discovery_ was a science vessel," Kuade mumbles disappointed to himself.

Bex looks around and notices heavily armed guards with military grade phasers, "It's going to be difficult to get out of here with the _Marquis_..." she warns Charlie.

"Hm. Strategy meeting. Tonight," he tells his crew and they continue down the hall in silence.

* * *

Commander Landry enters Captain Lorca's private quarters, hands confidently folded behind her back with her tablet report on the _Marqui_ ready for approval. No other officer is allowed access here, but Chief of Security has it's permissions, not that she takes any extra delight in such privileges.

"Ellen," Lorca greets with a pep to his words. His desk has several projections open with field reports and details on Klingon vessels.

 _He's obsessed._ Landry makes mental notes of the Captain's behavior.

"Gabriel," she greets with a small smile.

"How'd it go?" he takes a sip from a mug.

 _And he's drinking coffee again._

"The mission was an absolute success, sir. I have secured the _Marquis_ and it's shipment of an estimated 10,000 Lathium bars worth of Klingon weapons and armor."

The Captain smiles wide, "Marquida have to get their funding somehow. Excellent work, Commander! And uh... great 'baiting' idea. I like your ingenuity."

"Thank you, sir," she takes the compliment professionally.

"How many Marquida were there?"

"Four total, including a Mr. Charles Beauregard."

Lorca scoffs, "I swore I'd never let him step foot on my ship again. Did he put up a fight?"

"Yes, but nothing I couldn't handle," she says proudly.

"Oh? What's that then?" he reaches out with his hand to try and touch a red mark on her cheek, but she pulls back before he makes contact.

"Klingon cattle-prod," she says with disdain, "Charlie wasn't alone."

"Mm," Lorca says a bit disappointed, "Lucky I arrived with I did."

"Yes sir, thank you. You should've seen the look on her face when _Discovery_ jumped."

Lorca turns and eyes her in bemusement and sips his coffee.

"Would you like me to fetch Beauregard?"

He waves his hand and dismisses the idea, "Keep 'em busy. I have prison shuttle arriving for them 12 hours."

"Then I'll put them to work down in steerage," Landry pauses a moment and checks the bags under her Captain's eyes, "Permission to speak _frankly_ , sir."

"Hn? You know I always value your opinion."

"Get some sleep," she says bluntly before handing over her report and exiting.

Gabriel chuckles to himself and sets down his coffee. He flickers on the holographic readout of Landry's report and recognizes the first mugshot, "...Charlie Beau," he grumbles before letting the computer read out the rest of the details.

"Ex-Starfleet First Officer Charles Beauregard IV. Species: Human, Age: 36, Felonies: Impersonating a Starfleet Officer, Trafficking, Aggravated Assault with a Deadly Weapon, Grand-Theft of the Starship _USS Marqui-_ "

"Next," Lorca stares out his hull window.

"Ex-Starfleet Lieutenant Loralee Roh. Species: Betazoid, Age: 22, Felonies: Impersonating a Starfleet Officer, Trafficking, Soliciting-"

"Next," he says dully.

"Samantha Bex. Species: Human, Age: 267, Felonies: Impersonating-"

"Wait, _what?_ Repeat that back!" Lorca turns to Samantha Bex's mugshot.

"Samantha Bex. Human, born in the year 1988, found and rescued nine months ago from an unidentified human colony on the Klingon planet Donatu V."

Lorca expands her mugshot and scrolls, "How did she get there?"

"Classified."

"How long was she there?"

"Approximately 18 months."

"How'd she escape?"

"Classified."

"Override it! Voice confirmation, Captain Gabriel Lorca of the Starship _USS Discovery._ "

"Access denied."

"By whose authority?" he takes offense.

"The Vulcan Expeditionary Group..." the computer responds and Lorca rolls his eyes and minimises his holographic projection. The computer continues, "...in addition to Starfleet High Command, Vulcan Expeditionary Group has restricted access to any information on the Donatu V Human Colony until their investigation is concluded."

"Damn Vulcans," he takes a deep breath and thinks for a moment, "Samantha Bex, huh? What the hell are you doing here?"

* * *

The Marquida are put into individual cells below deck. Unlike other ship brigs with a set number of cells, the _Discovery_ is a bit more modular. The cells wall are built from netted force fields that can be adjusted to any size to accommodate any number of prisoners. Currently, four cells pair off on either side of the room. Charlie stands in the middle of his cell, arms crossed with Roh to his left in a seiza position meditating. Across from her sits Bex, leaning against her wall with her arms resting on her knees. To her right Kuade paces in his cell with his arms behind his back. The four remain silent since their walk of shame down the ship's corridors. Half of the Marquida still throb with pain, although none seem too thrilled to be captured.

Charlie watches the guard's behaviors and waits for a shift change. When one finally happens, he looks over at Roh and nods. She calmly returns a nod and closes her eyes.

The _Marquis_ Captain takes a deep breath and thinks loudly in his head, _Everyone. Listen up!_

Bex feels a tingle inside the front lobe of her brain. She and Kuade look up at Charlie at the same time and then look away as if they didn't just hear a telepathic voice in their heads.

 _Loree's under a lot of emotional distress being on this ship, so this is going to be a one-way conversation,_ Charlie thinks to his crew, _Lorca does not need to corroborate our stories. He will only talk to one of us and that person will be me. In the meantime, let's get this strategy meeting underway._

* * *

Lorca paces around his office while flipping an empty coffee mug in his hands, "Computer. Bring up the security feed for the brig."

The computer beeps in response and a blue 3D hologram of the ship's' brig projects off his table, displaying four prisoners in the four separate corners. The Captain spins the projection around a bit to get a better look at Charlie who just stands motionless. Lorca chews on his lip and he studies his prisoners. He sees Charlie turn his head so ever so slightly. Could be nothing, but then the two prisoners across the room look up in unison before quickly lowering their heads back down again.

"What..." he almost missed it. He zooms in on Charlie who still stands arms folded against his chest. Lorca then slowly spins the projection to Samantha Bex who sits on the floor, head down and arms crisscrossed around her knees. The human next to her, Lorca forgets his name, just paces. Cattycorner to him is that Betazoid with her eyes closed.

"...You're kidding," he stares hard at the Betazoid projection and can see the faint movement of her eyes darting beneath her eyelids. Lorca then notices that Bex's fingers keep twitching. First her left index, then her right pinky. It's subtle and looks almost unintentional.

"There communicating..." his heart leaps and he sets his mug down hard. He leans in close to the hologram.

"One.. two.. three, turn to the right.." he counts the Kuade's steps, "One.. two... Pause, turn to the left."

 _Yes._

He watches Bex's fingers, "Tap with right index... two taps left index... squeeze with both fists."

 _No._

So far, the only thing he can determine is a disagreement in how to extract the _Marqui_. The details of how this will be done still elude him, but he continues to take notes of their signals for the next hour.

"One... two... Three... Backstep, two, one..."

"Left thumb, right thumb, head tilt..."

Three cups of coffee into his surveillance and Lorca has gathered that they will attempt to commandeer the ship during transport after it has been fixed. He feels rather confident in his review, but then the four prisoners suddenly stop fidgeting.

"Hmm?"

The Betazoid lifts her head and then very gracefully stands to her feet. She takes two steps to the front of her cell and very delicately, clasps her hands together in front of her waist. The pacing human in the opposite corner sees this, thinks for a moment and steps forward to holds his hands in front. Next up, Charlie who does not step forward, but drops his arms into a clasped position nonetheless. The last to make a move is Bex who just stares at the ground and remains seated.

"Why aren't you standing, Samantha?" Lorca whispers to the hologram. His cold blue eyes focused on her movements, down to how many times she breathes. She's in disagreement with the rest of the crew but eventually rises, reluctantly. She takes several steps forward, her arms swinging at her sides, squeezing her fists before she finally clasping her hands _behind_ her back.

Lorca can see the frown cross Charlie's face and then all four break formation and return to their previous spots. They no longer communicate.

His heartbeat picks up, "What was that about?"

* * *

"Oohh... this hurts," Charlie moans at the site of his Klingon hoard in the cargo bay of the _Discovery_ , "That was a big payday. Of course, Starfleet would steal it from us. Lorca's probably salivatin' over it, the pervert," inside the _Discovery_ shuttle bay rests the _Marquis,_ opened like an autopsied corpse with hundreds of boxes and crates piled around her.

"C'mon," Roh insists, "The faster we get this over with, the sooner we can get back to the brig."

"Oh you wanna go back?" he accuses.

"Better than being near this crew. I'm sensing a lot of animosity towards their Captain. It's... an uncomfortable feeling for me."

After a blissless sleep in the brig, the Marquida reluctantly unpack their own freighter of its prizes to be locked away in the _Discovery's_ cargo vault. Starfleet security officers with thick black badges hover around the crew while they struggle to move the crates. Kuade loafs around shifting a few smaller boxes here and there but remains solidly useless.

" _Ugh!_ " Bex grunts pulling a skinny sarcophagus off the ground, "Aren't there robots in the future that can do this? Why the hell are _we_ put in charge of emptying our own freighter?"

Charlie takes the other end of the box, " _Oof!_ Lorca's sick idea of punishment, I reckon," he explains, "Plus, he's obsessed with efficiency. I wouldn't put it past 'em to use prisoners for manual labor. He and I go way back, y'know. How he still has a Starship and I had to steal mine is a big reason I left Starfleet."

Charlie staggers backward down the dock ramp and slams into Kuade who was hard at work avoiding work.

 _KRII-KRAAASSSH!_

The box smashes into the ground and the lid falls open causing three Klingon ceremonial spears spill out.

" _Damnit, Kuade!_ Could you be useful and actually _help_ us for once!?" Charlie snaps.

"Oh, my xenophobia against the Klingons prevents me from touching their little toys. You're on your own," Kuade haughtily refuses and continues to float around from corner to corner like a useless moth.

"I pray the Captain has a decent bone left in his body and throws you out the airlock," Charlie seeths and helps me put away the _very_ expensive spears, "What uh these for anyway?"

"I forget the name," Bex admits, " _Painstiks?_ They're used in Klingon Ascension Ceremonies, I know that. They're electrified," she picks up one and presses down three hidden glyph switches along the staff. The three-pronged tip on the end lights up with a red spark.

"Can I?"

Charlie takes the spear and he gently twists the staff causing the spark to slowly bloom.

"Careful, it is capable of long ra-"

 _SSSSIIIIFFFFTHAAA-CRAASH!_

Charlie twists on the spear too hard and sends a bolt of red lightning across the shuttle bay nearly hitting Commander Landry just as she enters. Both she and Charlie knock backward by the power of the bolt that hits and blackens a nearby wall.

Landry promptly recovers and aims her charged phaser at Charlie and then, to the surprise of everyone, aims it at Bex.

"Captain wants a word."

Bex and Charlie look at each other with wild apprehension and confusion. There is no need for a telepath to read each other's mind.

* * *

"Captain Lorca. Samantha Bex is here to see you," Landry escorts Bex to the Captain's Ready Room, which is a small very dark office annexed to the main bridge. The Captain stands with his back towards the door while he looks out his hull window. The fact that he wants to speak to Bex rather than Charlie clues her in on what our conversation will cover.

"No matter how deep in space you are, always feel like you can see home. Don't you think?"

The Captain tilts his head and waits for an answer, but gets none. His words seem rehearsed.

"I guess it's different for you. Forgive the lighting. The lack thereof. A recent battle injury. There's nothing they can do if I want to keep my own eyes, and I do. I have to suffer light change slowly. I like to think it makes me mysterious. No?" he turns to properly face his guest. Not a remarkable looking man; tall, lean with a face aged beyond his years, but mostly unintimidating.

"November 2nd, 2016 the Chicago Cubs win the World Series, 8 to 7, after 108 years of defeat!" he states excitedly before his voice drops again, "Must've been a helluva game."

Bex remains silent and wonders, _I've met scarier Captains before, so what's with all the eggshell around this guy?_

"I am Captain Gabriel Lorca and I just hit the jackpot. Not only did I secure the elusive _Marqui,_ her crew _and_ her Klingon weapons cache, but I also got myself a bonafide 21st Century Human," he sizes Bex up and leans forward on his standing desk with his hands spread wide, "I don't think I've ever met a time traveler before."

"I don't think most people have," she finally answers, trying not to give anything away.

"I only wish we met under better circumstances," he frowns after a pause and turns on a holographic projection for Bex to read, "I did a little research on you. There's not much, but the little I've gathered is quite interesting. Abducted a little over three years ago by an unknown alien species. Held hostage on a Klingon controlled planet. _Survived_ on said planet, for almost two years," he seems impressed, "How'd you do it?" he rounds and leans his back against his desk.

 _Interesting. Out of the things we could talk about, he chooses Klingons._

"Simple. I colluded with the enemy," she answers frankly.

He breaks his composure of a second, "You admit this?"

"I did whatever was needed to survive."

"And how much collusion was there exactly?"

" _Enough_ to procure a rescue."

The Captain motions with his face for her to elaborate.

"I familiarized myself with their technology, weapons, language..."

"Are you still _loyal_ to your old allies?"

"If I were, would I tell you?" that was an overstep.

He blinks hard and cocks an eyebrow at her brazenness.

Bex takes a deep breath and recites, "Starfleet Command in addition to the Vulcan Expeditionary Group conducted an investigation as to my being on Donatu V. They concluded that any action of mine while captured; whether it be treason, collusion or even murder, was, in fact, an act of self-defense due to my extremely hostile environment. They found me innocent of all charges."

"So I've read," the Captain replies dryly while scrolling through her mugshot details, "You later joined the Academy... and then promptly dropped out after a month," he looks up with his striking blue eyes, "Not your bag?"

"I'm a bit behind the times," Bex shrugs, "I have two centuries of innovation and history to catch up on. Starfleet was the floodgate of that information and it was uh... overwhelming," she seems embarrassed.

Lorca nods thoughtfully, "So, you joined a rogue crew of Starfleet defectors instead."

 _How do I explain that..._ Bex stalls.

"Captain. I have no home, no family, and no future. Back in _my_ time, mankind had barely made it past Mars, but now I have the entirety of the galaxy to wander. So, I made some friends who were in a similar predicament and together we explored the universe on our _own_ terms and at our _own_ pace."

A faint smile crosses the Captain's lips, "There are more honorable ways to tour the galaxy... Why not work for me?"

Bex is taken aback, "Uhh... With all due respect, is that completely appropriate?"

"It's _my_ ship and I've been in an acceptable mood today. You may not be a Starfleet officer but you have more experience with the Klingons than any of my crew. I could really use someone like you."

"A criminal."

"Intel."

The two stare at each other's unreadable faces.

 _Red flags..._ Bex's gut warns.

He sits up and takes a step too close, invading the Marquida's personal space in a show of intimidation, "We're at war," he says in a low, gravely voice, "I hope you've gathered at least _that_ much. Starfleet has given me the discretion to fight this war how I see fit. I will use anything and anyone at my disposal to complete my mission."

Charlie's reservations about Lorca start to make sense, "Lorca will only speak to me and I will remain on the _Discovery_ ," she remembers her Captain explaining.

 _Change of plans..._ she has a new mission, "You would trust what I have to tell you?"

"Trust is something to be worked out. Consider this a plea bargain," he returns to the other side of his desk, "Starfleet was merciful to you once. They won't be again. Impersonating an officer is a life sentence. You should thank me, Samantha Bex. I'm doing you a favor. Welcome aboard the Starship _Discovery_ ," he motions to the door with his chin, "Dismissed."


	4. Ch 03 - Lorca Maneuver

**Chapter 3 - Lorca Maneuver**

Bex attempts to survive her first day aboard the _Discovery_ and learns about its experimental Spore Drive.

* * *

 **NOTE:** This is sort of a "Meanwhile..." kind of story. There are some timeline changes from the original show, specifically concerning Commander Landry.

*SPOILERS* I know it's a big NO NO to change canon storylines, but Landry getting killed for trying to cut off the Ripper's claw was really stupid. (She knew he was indestructible, so what the hell was she trying to do?) In this story, the creature attacks for a different reason. *END SPOILERS*

Also, I totally stole the name "Lorca Maneuver" from the Geek Breakdown, Lore Reloaded on YouTube.

 **TIME:** The following happens during the episode _The Butcher Knife Cares not for the Lamb's Cry._

My characters...

 **Samantha Bex:** 29, born in the year 1988, abducted in 2017 and displaced two and half centuries later on Donatu V. How she got there and how she managed to survive this Klingon infested planet is unknown.

 **Detective Kuade:** 40ish, not his real name, Agent for the Department of Temporal Investigations. Has questionable motives and a bizarre fascination with Sam Bex. Claims he is assisting in her relocation to the 23rd century.

 **Charles Beauregard IV:** 36, son of several decorated Captains, a drunk. He's a major frustration within Starfleet and struggles to follow regulation and protocol. Gloryhound with a death wish who knows Gabriel Lorca.

 **Loralee Roh:** 22, Betazoid, ex-heiress to a powerful family. Living secluded in high society has atrophied her telepathic and empathic powers. She joined Starfleet in order to expand her worldview but finds it overwhelming.

* * *

 _SHHHHIIIK!_

The electric sliding doors open.

"Your sleeping quarters," Commander Landry escorts Bex into a 50 square foot dorm room, "Don't trash it like you did the _Marquis_. The cafeteria is down the hall, to the right," and she promptly leaves.

Bex stands alone in the biggest bedroom since her abduction. Two proper twin sized lay a few feet apart, one already claimed by a crewman's tool belt, the untouched for days. The completely bare room gives the time traveler the opposite feeling of claustrophobia; loneliness and alienation-a sensation absent from the _Marquis._ The walls shine with polished metal as do the floors, and end tables, headboards, and desks. It all feels sterile.

The lonely time traveler drops on the free bed her belongings; a Klingon mask, which is actually just a heads-up display, some blackened robes and her most valuable possession, a white smartphone. This little time capsule survived in her back pocket for the past few years but remains switched off with a dead battery. It is the only thing she has left from her own time period, besides a few faded memories.

She hides the phone and mask in her bundle of robes and stores it under the bed. She then sits on the mattress and waits. What else she can do with her access to the ship limited to just her room and the cafe. She waits to hear from Loralee, but with a ship so big and filled with so many other minds, that the young Betazoid probably continues to feel overwhelmed. The Captain means to keep Bex separated from the rest of the Marquida. Why Lorca chose her over Charlie can simply be his attempt at throwing off their plans to steal back the _Marquis._

 _But it won't work,_ Bex thinks confidently and lays back to sleep.

After a long nap to allow her bruises heal, Bex wanders the few dormitory halls available to her. She makes several slow laps to pick up on the various conversations of the crew.

"So we're allowing criminals onboard the _Discovery_ now _..._ " she hears an angry Farian whisper to his colleague.

"Starfleet _traitor_. I heard she's part Klingon," an Andorian hisses.

"What is she doing walking around? She's making me uncomfortable."

"Better her than Michael."

"Michael?"

"Yeah, Michael Burnham."

" _The_ Michael Burnham?"

"Yep. On our ship. I can't believe what Lorca is doing. First a _defector_ and now a _mutineer!_ "

 _Hmm.. what's the difference between a defector and a mutineer?_ Bex questions as she makes her 70th lap around the dormitories. She would very much like to meet this Michael fellow and decides to take and visit the mess hall. Several cafeterias exist on the ship with the one for the dorms being the smallest. Small, white round tables spread evenly on the tile next to a wall of food replicators that look like oversized microwave ovens.

"Please make your selection," the replicator requests.

"Uh, double bacon cheeseburger with all the fixings," Bex orders.

The replicator vibrates away creating her meal out of pure energy, "Your meal is not very nutritious," the replicator scolds.

Bex slides open the door and is greeted by that all familiar electrical smell of replicated food. The one luxury she misses about being 'primitive' is that she once dined on _real_ food.

She turns to find a seat and her ears pick up more conversations.

"Ugh. This cafe suddenly got a bit too crowded," a table of crewmen scour at her and leave.

"Charlie's whore," she hears another voice say.

 _It's like I'm back in high school,_ Bex frowns, _I was hoping the future was above bullying._ She eyes an empty table in the back corner, but when she approaches, she enters into a standoff between a very stern looking woman in an ugly yellow jumpsuit.

Bex recognizes the woman's black Starfleet badge, "Mutineer?" she asks surprised by Michael's gender.

Burnham just eyes her up and down taking note of the blackened and torn cadet's uniform, "Defector?"

Lunch buddies!

The two black sheep sit across from each other in awkward, but blissful silence. Burnham eats from a selection the replicator would approve of; a stir fry veggie rice bowl. She eats her meal slowly, back stiff, jaw tight as if she's being judged by a panel of etiquette police. Her posture makes Bex, who sloppily devours her burger, feel ill-mannered. They make eye contact every now and again during their meal, but no judgment is passed between them.

Bex reminiscences of her first meal aboard the _Marquis._

* * *

"I have located and disconnected all trackers rigged aboard the ship. We are officially severed from Star Command!" Kuade steps smugly into the Observation Deck on the port side of the _Marquis_. The rest of the crew "Whoo!" and clap at his accomplishment. The small and skinny Observation Deck lines the outer edge of the scout ship. The entire deck measures a mere 10 feet long and 3 feet in width and comes with pull-down seats that face a set of large windows. The chairs have table trays that fold out so that the crew can eat while watching the stars.

Kuade takes a seat on the end next to Roh who sits to the left of Charlie and Bex, "What's on the menu?" he asks rubbing his palms together.

"Uttaberry Souffle!" Roh chimes happily, "A delicacy from my homeworld and my great-grandmother's recipe."

"Oh! Ms. Roh! I didn't know you could cook," Kuade compliments.

"It's just a formula I entered into the replicator. No need to act so impressed," she dismisses and the two begin to muse with one another. Charlie wolfs down his souffle, paying no mind to its fluffy delicacy. He notices that Bex has hardly touched hers. She sits distracted with her attention caught by the purple-pink swell of clouds outside the hull windows.

"The _Paulsen Nebula,_ " Charlie interrupts her thoughts.

"Hm?"

" _Paulsen Nebula._ I figured it'd be a good spot to enjoy our first meal together as a team. Have you ever seen a nebula before?"

"In person? No..." she smiles sweetly at the window as purple and pink lights refract off the ship's metal, "It's beautiful."

Charlie smiles, "It's not too bad lookin', but it's one of _many_ ," he stabs at his souffle, "I've seen dark matter nebulas, micro-nebulas, stellar nurseries, binary star systems, _tri_ nary systems. I've been on a planet made of diamonds, a planet with 150 moons. What you see here is small potatoes compared to what's really out there."

"I wish could see it all..."

"Who says you can't?" Charlie puts down his spoon.

"We can't run from Starfleet forever."

"Maybe not, but we can make it a good chase for 'em."

"Take the scenic route?"

"Exactly," he smiles, "Wherever you wanna go. Whatever you wanna see. I'll take you there."

"That's a tall order, Captain," Bex warns.

"It's also what he promised me," Roh speaks up and teases.

"And I'm still delivering on that promise! I'm more than capable of chaperoning the both of you."

"Well, what if _I_ want to go somewhere special," Kuade pretend pouts.

"Then we'll add that pin to our roadmap," Charlie answers, "We can see it all! Do it all! _We're free!_ "

* * *

Bex's eyes refocus from her thoughts to her mess of a meal, but her appetite disappears into the cosmos, as does her mood. How different this maiden meal feels from the _Marquis_. No excitement, no techno-color stellar show. Just the cold, persistent sense of isolation.

" _Hhhuh!_ " she gasps at a familiar tingle in her brain.

Burnham looks up from her meal, "What's wrong?"

Bex doesn't answer but darts her eyes to the various hull windows.

"Shuttle for prison colony cleared for warp," informs the intercom. A small prison shuttle launches from the _Discovery_. Roh bids a telepathic goodbye from inside the shuttle as it escorts the Marquida into the blackness of space.

Burnham looks over out the hull window and a small frown crosses her tight face. She cares not for who's onboard that shuttle but feels upset nonetheless. She pulls her eyes away and quietly returns to her meal, but cannot enjoy due to Bex's heavy breathing.

The lone Marquida's begins to stress out about her unfavorable situation. She refuses to acknowledge her co-dependence on her friends, but this mission will be hell without their support.

 _BANG!_

Kuade slams down his tray of several portions of replicated meats and fruit. His rudeness distributes Burnham. His still being on the ship and wearing an Operations Uniform disturbs Bex. The oblivious buffoon looks up at his First Officer with a mouthful of some fruit she's never seen before. He frowns at her clothes, "Did you not get a uniform?"

" _What the hell!_ " Bex shoves Kuade into her empty dorm room, " _What are you doing here!?_ "

The detective flinches at her words and smooths out his wrinkles she made in his uniform, "I was offered a position," he states matter-of-factly.

"What position?"

"Lieutenant of Operations," he motions to his uniform, "See the bronze?"

"You're _supposed_ to be on the prison shuttle with Charlie and Loree! You're _supposed_ to be helping them escape!"

"Oh, they don't need my help. I'd just be in the way," Kuade dismisses, not taking Bex's rant seriously, "Besides, I thought you'd be happy about this arrangement."

"Happy?"

" _You_ were the one that opposed Charlie staying on the _Discovery._ _You're_ the reason our strategy meeting ran all night long!" Kuade raises his voice.

Bex huffs, "I distinctly remember all of us agreeing that only _one_ Marquida was to stay behind."

"Yes, and it just so happens that the Captain chose _you_ to be that sacrificial lamb, hence why _I'm_ here. I couldn't very well leave you behind on such a dangerous ship. Think of the incident report I'd have to fill out!"

"I can handle myself, _Kuade_."

"You _say_ that, but your luck is going to run out one day, _Sam!"_

"I got out of the brig just fine," she smiles with her arms wide.

"Yes, how _did_ you manage that? Did you seduce another Captain?" he accuses and flinches as he's shoved hard again.

Bex paces defeated, rubbing her face and eyes, "This will be the death of the Marquida..."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Kuade fixes his hair he now styles in a fluffy pompadour, "Charlie and Loree are _more_ than capable of making an escape on their own. Loree can... distract the pilots with her telepathy and Charlie can... punch them in the face. _I dunno!_ I am far more useful here on the _Discovery_ assisting you."

"How did you even get a position here? And in Operations no less?"

"I'm a persuasive man, Samantha Bex and a master of disguises," he says smugly, "While the Captain had us emptying out the _Marquis_ , I found a control panel and..." he makes a hand gesture as if typing on a keyboard, "Added myself to the roster."

"As 'Detective Kuade'?"

"No, as Friday. _Joseph_ Friday," he says standing tall with a big grin, but Bex just gives him a pained expression.

" _Dragnet!_ Detective Sergeant Joe Friday?" Kuade is in disbelief that she doesn't recognize the name, "Successful radio and television show during the 1950s? Adapted in 1987 into a comedy film starring Dan Aykroyd? _Considered to be the most influence cop drama in all of television history?_ " not ringing a bell with Bex. He heaves a heavy sigh, "You uncultured swine."

"I don't see how reliving your PI fantasies is going to help me," she cocks an eyebrow.

"As Operations, I can move about the ship more freely than you. I have access to almost every deck, every console. Thus, while I may not have a mean right hook, I _do_ have a mean left hemisphere and can help you secure the _Marquis_ from the _inside._ It's a much better plan than what _Charlie_ kept insisting on."

"Yeah, but why did it have to be _you_..." Bex says under her breath as she rubs her forehead in pain.

"Hn?" he didn't quite catch that.

"You're _exhausting_."

Kuade makes a phone gesture with his fingers, "Uhh... hello kettle, this is pot," he mocks.

"Funny," she says dully and plops down on her bed.

"Well, I don't see you offering up any suggestions on how we're going to pull this heist off. At least I _have_ a job."

"I have a job."

"Do you?"

"Yes. Intel."

" _Ha!_ Intel for what exactly? How to improperly use a tricorder?"

"Klingons," she answers with a bite.

Kuade's eyes go big, "Oh, that's good. That's _really_ good," he sits on the other bed across from her, wheels turning in his mind, "I take it back, Sam. You _are_ useful."

Bex rolls her eyes and lays back on her pillow, "Yeah, it wasn't my idea...".

"No?"

"It was the Captain's."

"Oh? Oh... that's _not_ good. Seems like he's already a few steps ahead of us. I hate to admit it, but he's going to be the biggest obstacle in our re-hijacking."

"Is he _that_ much of a concern?"

"Lorca is a militaristic _genius_ and probably the most decorated Captain in all of Starfleet right now. He's not commanding the _Discovery_ for his good looks. He will be our biggest adversary, yet."

"Wonderful," Bex replies sarcastically, "You've instilled _so much_ confidence in me."

"It's not impossible," Kuade gets up and paces around the room, "There is a chance we can still save the Marquida... A small chance... like 0.0003% chance, but this _will be_ the mission to end all missions. I'm talking full mental warfare. Collusion. _Seduction._ We're here for the long haul, Sam."

"And your plan is...?"

"Eh... I still need to come up with something, but when I have it, _you_ need to take my lead. _I'm_ Captain and _you're_ First Officer."

Bex sits up, "No way."

"Why not? I'm older."

"What are you, like 40? I was born 200 years before you."

"That doesn't count. _I'm_ a federal agent!"

"Oh. You're still on the payroll?"

"...No," Kuade huffs in defeat, "My probationary period at the Department of Temporal Investigations is well revoked by this point, _but_ I'm still dedicated to the project," he gestures to Bex.

"That project being... _me?"_

"Yes," he answers with a genuine smile.

"How dutiful of you," Kuade still makes her a little nervous at times.

" _TWEET-TI-TEET!_ Lieutenant _Friday_ to the bridge," Kuade's communicator chimes in, "We have a broken panel light out down in Engineering. Can you take a look at it."

"Ohhh!" he says excitedly picking up his toolbelt off the opposing mattress, "Excuse me. I have a light bulb to change," he grins jokingly and makes Bex chuckle a little.

"Have fun with that, _Janitor Friday_ ," she teases.

"Trust me..." he pleads and exits the room, "We can pull this off."

Bex takes a deep breath, still not convinced of anything, but takes comfort in Kuade's savviness to assign himself as her roommate. He may annoy her to no end, but sharing a room with a stink-eyed, gossiping Starfleet lackey sounds less appealing.

 _SHHHHIIIK!_

Commander Landry enters the room, although her focus remains on the exiting Kuade quickly traipsing down the hall, "Who was that?" she asks.

Bex stands, "I didn't see anyone."

Landry frowns, "Let's go. Can't stand you in these halls any longer."

* * *

The doors to the Engineering Test Bay Alpha opens and Kuade mozzies his way in with his belt of tools strapped loosely to his waist. A large glass chamber sits in the middle of the meticulously disinfected room. Computer stations line the walls and an upper-level observation deck reflects the burning red lights of the ship's engines.

"Who are you?" asks a rather offended looking white haired human. "Operations," Kuade answers with a grin as he bounces down the steps from the doorway, "Lieutenant Friday. You have a glitchy panel projection?" Kuade cranes his neck this way and that to get a good look around the room. The white haired man tilts his head in annoyance at this.

"Oh, right. I'm Lieutenant Paul Stamets, that's Cadet Sylvia Tilly," he waves to a cute redhead across the room, "The panel is over there."

"Great!" Kuade says with pep in his voice, "Excuse me, Ms. Tilly was it?" he greets with charm, offering a hand to shake.

"Oh yes. Thank you. It's been flickering all day," she blushes.

"Not to worry. An easy fix!" Kuade winks and bends down on the backside of her desk, pulling off the back panel to expose a nest of white wires. As he works, he sneaks glances around the room, dedicating the layout to memory. He makes note of a second door leading to some kind of sterilization room which stays secured behind a breath analyzation panel. Interesting. In the center of the room stands Lieutenant Stamets' desk which doubles as a central hub. The wall behind this hub houses several rows of containment canisters.

"Excuse me," Stamets watches Kuade try to be sneaky, "What are you doing?" he says with a condescending smile.

"Repairing your hologram light?"

"And _who_ you are again? I've never seen you before," he snaps paranoid.

"Uh, just promoted. Friday," Kuade reintroduces and turns back to his work. Stamets narrows his eyes and then shakes his head of the distraction.

Kuade looks over his shoulder a bit more subtle and monitors the Lieutenant's work. Confident of Stamets distraction, the sleuth digs into his utility belt, pulls out a small black breaker and plugs it into one of the desk sockets. He double checks to make sure no one actually saw him do that. The girls type away on their projections and Stamets runs calculations. The Detective pulls back his sleeve and clicks a button on his antique watch. A light on the breaker blinks green. He then covers his watch with his sleeve again and locates the busted laser light.

"Captain, be advised, the spore drive is online and primed," Stamets addresses the bridge.

"Primed? Can you control where we're going or not?" Lorca complains over the comm.

"It's possible, maybe even likely, but-"

"Done," the Captain then address the rest of the ship, "Attention all personnel. Stealth protocol. Run silent. Black alert."

 _WRAAAANG! BLACK ALERT! WRAAANG! BLACK ALERT!_

An alarm blares and the lights along the walls of the ship turn blue.

"All crew to battle stations. Be ready for whatever's on the other side of that jump," Lorca instructs over the comm again

"Loading spores into the drive," Stamets informs the Captain. Kuade watches the Lieutenant twist and pulls out a canister from the back wall. Millions of what look like bright blue fireflies storm inside the glass cylinder while it slides and locks into place in the central hub. The large glass chamber at the front of the engineering room fills up with these fireflies. Kuade watches, mouth agape, as they flutter down and fill the chamber.

"Spore drive is online," Stamets announces and flips a few switches on his hub, "Plot destination to Corvan 2."

And then Kuade feels his stomach lurch up into his brains as the ship Jumps 100 hours across the galaxy in a second.

* * *

Bex makes laps around cargo, checking a PADD for numbers, opening crates to count stock, and making notes of any discrepancies. Landry assigned the Starfleet dropout the only job she's qualified for; warehouse management, or more specifically, double checking the computer's count on the number of supplies the ship carries. It's insulting work, but Bex doesn't complain. The _Marquis_ rests in the shuttle bay which conveniently shares a space with the cargo bay, making espionage quite simple for the Marquida. A contracted team of six mechanics attempt to repair the vessel before Lorca returns it back to Starfleet Command. Bex also finds it pretty relaxing inside steerage; the only sound being the flames from blowtorches and hammers banging away on the scout ship. The mechanics don't give her a hard time either, so she can go about her espionage in peace.

 _GRRROOOOAAHHH..._

The walls and windows of the cargo bay begin to groan, but no one seems to take notice. Bex strides her way across the glossy floors of the large two-story warehouse. She then sort of lumbers a bit when her knees suddenly give out and her brain does a summersault.

" _What the?!_ " one of the mechanics screams as orange light fills the bay with blinding radiating heat. The entire ship begins to capsize towards this light and Bex loses her footing and slides on her rear towards the hull wall. She drops her PADD and her feet collide hard on the window.

"Oh, my gah-" a star! The ship unexpectedly finds itself caught in the gravity well of an O-class star. The hot light burns Bex's corneas along with the soles of her feet.

" _GAAAAK!"_ a small mechanic loses his footing and slams back first against the window.

" _Look out!_ " calls another workman when tools and loose crates begin to slide and slam against the windows. Bex pushes a few of the lighter boxes away, but a rather large crate trucks its way down straight at the now unconscious worker.

The ship turns away from the star, causing everything to tilt the opposite direction, but the massive crate continues to plow forward. Bex falls to the floor and recovers to help two of the mechanics attempt to slow the crate's trajectory. They push and pull as hard as they can while their feet squeak against the slick floor. With incredible effort, they manage to slow the crate to a stop before it crushes their colleague. The ship warps out from the star's gravitational pull and silence returns back to the bay.

* * *

Bex helps brace the injured mechanic, Howard, up to the Sickbay. This room comes equipped with the brightest, whitest lights. Quite the contrast to the rest of the darkened ship. Howard hobbles up onto an empty medical bed and winces when he lies on his back.

 _Seems like he's not the only one who got hurt during our little close-up stargazing adventure,_ Bex looks over her shoulder and sees a white haired Science Officer get the bones in his nose realigned with what looks like a laser pointer.

"Who's the doctor here?" she asks.

"I am," answers a young man with brown skin and teeth just as white as the lights, "I'm Dr. Culber. I'll be with you in just a moment," he replies with a sweet voice.

Captain Lorca enters, with a gait that suggests impatience, "How's the patient, Dr. Culber?"

"Well, I took care of the skull fractures first. Another millimeter, the palatine bone would've pierced his cortex," the doctor informs.

"The frontal lobe is overrated," the patient dismisses, "It only contains memory and emotional expression. It's completely unnecessary."

"Well, I'll save it. Just in case you might wanna have a feeling one day," the doctor retorts.

" _Ugg..._ My head..." Howard pulls at Bex's sleeve, "Ice pack," he requests and points to a shelf across the room. She goes to retrieve one doing her best to not look interested in the Captain's conversation. She opens the ice shelf slowly to not make too much noise.

"... _Discovery_ is no longer a science vessel," Lorca says rather blunt, "It's a warship."  
"That is not the mission I signed on for. I'm not a soldier."

"Well, then get off. Leave the ship."

"If I go, I'm taking everything with me. My spores, my drive. This entire ship was designed around my scientific specialty," the white haired man bites down on his words, trying to maintain his composure.  
"Everything on this ship is the property of Starfleet, Lieutenant," Lorca goes in for the kill, "How do you wanna be remembered in history? Alongside the Wright Brothers, Elon Musk, Zefram Cochrane? Or as a failed fungus expert? A selfish little man who put the survival of his own ego before the lives of others."

 _Ouch..._ Bex returns back with an ice pack.

The white haired man breathes in sharply, "Are you done?" he asks the doctor but stands to leave before he gets an answer.

"You still have blood on your face..."

"And your hands, Lieutenant," Lorca raises his voice, "Get back to work. Fix the problem!"

The Lieutenant exits and Lorca nods to the doctor before departing himself.

Bex thinks a moment, "Spores?" she asks Howard.

He looks up at her sympathetically while she holds the icepack to his head. She seems like a nice enough person to the young man, but a criminal's a criminal in his mind, "It's probably best if you didn't know."

* * *

Attempting to retrace her steps back down to steerage, Bex leaves the Medical Bay to return to her thrilling warehouse work. Along the route, she spots her partner in crime making his own rounds.

" _Kuade!_ I mean.. Lieutenant Friday," she runs up to him.

"Ah, yes. The deserter. How may I assist you today?" he fake smiles.

"Have you come up with a plan, yet?" she asks in a quieter voice.

"Unfortunately, no. I've come across a rather _big_ roadblock," he responds hushed as they walk side by side down the hall, "This ship is far more advanced than first feared. We just managed to jump across an entire sector of the Beta Quadrant in less than five seconds."

"Oh. That's what that was."

"The ship is currently, _attempting,_ to get to Corvan 2."

"Is that a planet?"

"Yes. Starfleet's dilithium mines. They're under Klingon attack."

Bex shakes her head in disappointment, "Almost forgot we are dragged into that dogfight."

"The _Discovery_ is the only ship capable of reaching Corvan 2 in time. Or... it _should_ be. The engineering team still hasn't perfected their experimental Spore Drive."

" _Spore_ Drive? Like... mushrooms?"

"Yes. It seems they cannot control the end circuit destination when attempting long jumps. Essentially, flying blind. Lieutenant Stamets is close to completing his work, however, and that could really put a damper on our mission. I need to investigate this drive to determine how much of a problem it really poses for us."

"A teleporting battleship would put us in quite the pickle."

"Exactly."

"And the longer we stay aboard the _Discovery_ , the closer the Spore Drive will be to perfection."

"Correct."

"So sabotage it."

Kuade shushes her, " _Uh... erh!_ That's not a good idea!" he hisses and pulls her to the side of the hall, "Starfleet is already tampering with forces better left alone. We're riding on a ticking time bomb here. _Listen,_ " he quickly checks his watch, "I'm going back down to Engineering to gather more clues about the drive. _Not to break the thing_ , but to study it."

Bex bites her lip, "Fine. We have time before the _Marquis's_ repaired. I'll keep an eye on our ship to ensure Lorca doesn't try to install any unnecessary _upgrades_. You continue your recognizance of this drive and report back to me."

"Sure-wait. I thought we agreed _I_ was the Captain."

"No. I'm Captain-"

" _I'm Captain."_

A furry Caitian strolls by the arguing pair and gives them a wild look.

"Yeah, uh.." Bex facades, "So, fix that comm system in the cargo bay before you get someone killed."

"Uhhh, yes!" plays along, "Of course. I'll get right on it-"

"Broadcasting ship-wide," the Captain's voice cuts in over the comm system, "Computer, play the audio transmissions from Corvan 2," followed by the sounds of bombs and people screaming.

" _Boooomm..._ this is my... _zzzz_.. last message," comes a man's voice, "Another round of bombs just struck.. _tssss._ "

"Zaphod's dead!" screams another voice, "Our bunker is collapsing!"

"Mommy, mommy wake up!" cries a little girl, "Wake up!"

"Please... _zzzt.._ Save my children," a woman pleads.

The recording continues to play in every corner of the ship for several more minutes, despite the crew's wishes for it to stop.

"Anyone! _Zzzzts..._ Help them!"

" _Heelllp!_ _BOOOOM!"_

"What is this?" Bex asks uneasily.

"Lorca Maneuver," Kuade frowns, "We're on a battleship full of scientists. The Captain means to _inspire_ his crew..." he looks down at his shaken ward and gives her a worried look, "I warned you, Sam. Full mental warfare."

* * *

About an hour after that horrific transmission, Commander Landry, with a freshly healed cut above her lip, escorts Bex down an upper deck hall. The Captain requested her to meet him in his menagerie located in a small research room filled with his treasures; specimen collections, deadly alien weapons, a Gorn skeleton and the latest in biological and autopsy equipment.

"Enter," Lorca stands with Burnham inspecting something on an examination table. The mutineer now wears a Starfleet Science uniform, but with no rank or badge. Bex also notices the wreckage around the room. A shattered glass table and the several fragile specimens lie in pieces. On the floor rests a Klingon disruptor rifle next to several deep claw marks and blood. To the left of this stands a darkened corridor protected by a forcefield and Bex swears she can hear something breathing.

"Ah, good!" Lorca catches her attention, "Our Klingon Intel. Come take a look at this."

She walks over to the examination table and sees laying on it a very small knife about five inches long with a split curved tip. The split blade bends harshly at an irregular angle as if smashed against a rock.

"Haven't issued any laboratory testing yet. I wanted to get your opinion first. Is it Klingon?" the Captain asks.

 _Of course, it's Klingon,_ Bex thinks to herself, _he's testing me._

"Yes, it's Klingon," she answers frowning her eyebrows, "How did it get on the ship?"

"We found it wedged in the shell of some... _precious_ cargo we liberated off the _USS Glenn,"_ the Captain explains causing Landry and Burnham to shift a bit.

"Mm-hm," Bex detects a fib but does not press for more information. Instead, she notices a rather nice looking _bat-leth_ hanging on the wall.

"The blade is quite heavy, and looks to be made from some kind of tritanium material," Burnham begins her own analysis, "If I had to guess, I would say that this blade is most likely part of a much larger weapon. Perhaps a piece of it broke off when the Klingon used it against our... _cargo_."

"It remained lodged in our cargo when we brought it aboard the ship and... set it off," Landry replies dryly.

"It's a _naH-taj_ ," Bex corrects and pulls her attention away from the wall of Klingon weapons. She darts her eyes between Burnham and Landry, "A fruit knife."

"A _fruit_ knife?" Landry questions.

"It's made of the same material as the hull of this ship," Burnham points out.

"Yes well, it's customary for Klingon assassins to use smaller blades. Easier to hide. Over time, they began to reinforce their silverware, should the opportune moment of execution happen over dinner," the crew remain unconvinced. Bex continues, "Most of the Klingons I've dealt with carry at least two eating utensils on their person at all times should an opportunity arise. I'm assuming one did when a Klingon happened upon your... _precious cargo_. Thus..." she gestures to the room, "...leading to all this. What happened in here anyway?"

"Need to know," Landry answers coldly.

The Captain relaxes his brows and nods satisfied with the evaluation. Bex takes this as her sign to turn around and leave.

"You weren't dismissed," Lorca says without looking up.

She stops, "I'm not a Starfleet Officer."

"You're still aboard a Starship. You will still follow protocol," Landry reiterates for the Captain.

Bex takes a deep breath and turns to face them. Lorca and Landry stare daggers at her while Burnham looks away politely. A very long and tension filled minute goes by while Lorca and Landry force Bex to stand awkwardly in the center of the destroyed room. Burnham glances over at the Captain with clear discomfort in her eyes.

"Dismissed!" he finally directs and Bex swiftly turns out of the room.

"Starfleet flunky..." Landry says under her breath, but still loud enough for everyone to hear.

Bex glowers and looks over her shoulder just as the Chief of Security picks up the fruit knife to smell the blade, "Whoa, whoa!" Bex charges back into the room with her hand out.

"You are dismissed!" Lorca shouts.

"What are you doing?" Bex ignores him and addresses the Commander, "That thing is _contaminated_ with arsenic."  
"What," Landry drops the knife.

"Fruit on Qo'nos has lethal levels of arsenic and arsine gases. Klingon physiology evolved not only to be able to process these toxins but to _thrive_ on them. Less than two grams can kill a human."

Landry stands stunned.

"Back to Sickbay!" Lorca demands and the stern woman reluctantly heads back to the upper deck once more.

* * *

Kuade stands outside the Engineering Test Bay pretending to fix a hallway light with a blowtorch. He lifts his mask to check his 3 and 9 to find the coast clear and clicks a button on his antique watch.

" _TWEET-TI-TEET!_ Lieutenant Friday to Engineering Test Bay," his communicator requests after a few minutes, "That projection is flickering again."

Kuade grins.

 _SSSHHHIK!_

He enters the room only seconds later.

"That was quick," Stamets points out.

"I was in the neighborhood."

The projection panel Kuade 'fixed' flickers on and off violently despite not being in use.

"I dunno what you did, but you made it worse," Stamets accuses. He turns to Burnham as the two stand in front of the secured passageway to the cultivation room, "Come on... Let's go."

Kuade notices that the Lieutenant's phaser is drawn.

"The phaser will only piss him off," Burnham warns.

"Think of it as a placebo for my skepticism," he smiles sorely and the two enter the decontamination chamber, before disappearing further into the reaches of the room that follows.

"Interesting..." Kuade investigates the now empty Test Bay area. He finds nothing by the secure doorway, of course, but he does find an empty spore canister on Stamets' hub. He picks it up and smells the opening. He slips his finger around the lip of the canister and scrubs up a few leftover blue spores. He rubs these between his index and thumb, looking closely at how they pulsate with energy, and then he eats them.

* * *

Bex returns to the cargo bay and waves a friendly hello to the _Marquis_ mechanic crew who kindly greet back.

"Night!"

It's late, the equivalent of 11:00 San Francisco time, so the men call it a day. She stays behind and double checks all the locking mechanisms along the storage wall as well as pick up any loose tools off the floor. She crosses over to the shuttle bay to get a better look at the _Marquis_. Security cameras line the walls, so she dares not to enter the ship, but instead, slides her hand across its smooth hull. Bex was never a car or motorcycle enthusiast back on Earth, but spaceships make an exception. After only a day or two of repairs, the shuttle already looks 100% better, but more needs to be done.

* * *

The Test Bay fills with officers scurrying back to their posts as Kuade continues to pretend to fix the panel he intentionally broke. Burnham joins the team along with a new gadget labeled ' _USS Glen'_ with white tubing. Inside the main spore chamber stands a four-armed probing gizmo connected to this new tubing.

"Engineering Team," Stamets addresses as he readies the main hub, "Prepare for jump."

 _WRAAAANG! BLACK ALERT! WRAAANG! BLACK ALERT!_

"Mr. Stamets," the Captain greets over the comm, "Are you ready?"

The alarms go off again and Stamets readies another canister of spores, "Stand by, Captain," the Lieutenant requests and then looks up to the main glass chamber and taps in coordinates into his screen, "Energize!"

A large, monstrous, eight armed creature beams into the spore chamber. The horrific looking monstrosity snarls covered spikes along its thick outer shell and eyeless face. It drools from a sucker-like mouth and slashes at the carbon fiberglass chamber with its ten inch long claws. Blue spores release from the ceiling of the chamber and flutter around it's body like dust caught in a static pull.

Most of the crew step back in fear of the creature, but Kuade draws to it like a moth to a flame, "Now there's someone I haven't seen in a _long_ time..."

"We just transported the Tardigrade into the reaction cube," Stamets informs the Captain, "The tech from the Glenn is activating!" the strange gizmo inside the chamber switches on automatically, wiggling around its probs before violently piercing the creature's flesh.

" _SCRREEEEE!"_ The beast squeals in pain making Kuade jump in surprise.

Stamets' hub projects a star system map that glitters with a thousand glowing dots, "This is every charted star system. The Tardigrade is holding all these coordinates in its head," he exclaims, "Course is set for Corvan 2. We're ready to jump, sir."

 _WRAAAANG! BLACK ALERT! WRAAANG! BLACK ALERT!_

This is all quite a lot for the detective to take in, "Jump again?" he questions breathlessly and then notices the alarm blaring in the background. He remembers his earlier conversation with Bex, "Does the Black Alert reach cargo bay?" he asks Stamets and Burnham.

Stamets looks at him as if that is the wrong question to be asking at this time, "I dunno. You're Operations."

Kuade's eyes go big and he abruptly takes off up the stairs and out of the Testing Bay area, abandoning his tools and the flickering console.

"Wha-Where is he going?" Stamets complains.

The detective slides and slams into the opposite hallway wall of the exit and sprints down the corridors, deeper into the second secondary hull.

* * *

 **UPDATE 1.3.18 Added more to this scene then just Kuade's sudden burst of super strength.**

Bex walks along the upper catwalk of the cargo bay doing her last minute rounds. With a busted comm system, everything sits in silence, allowing her to continue work unaware of the ship's primed Spore Drive. The pedestrian access door to the walkway opens and the Black Alert alarms spill into the corridor.

" _SAM!"_ Kuade gasps right when the ship jumps to Corvan 2 and straight into a Klingon photon torpedo. A wall of the cargo bay rips open and Bex feels the gravity shift behind her as she begins to fall out of the ship. She tumbles backward, rolling head over foot being forced towards the now massive breach along the hull walls. She can see this opening come at her fast, but she cannot catch or slow her fall. She collides with something hard.

The wind knocks out of her lungs and her brain slams against her skull as a familiar bright netting flashes in her eyes. A forcefield! The same kind that in the ship's brig, only now doubling as an instant repair for the hull breach.

More Klingon torpedoes collide with the ship while it hovers to a full stop above the Corvan mines. When the _Discovery_ clears mycelial plane, the shields come up to full power. They block the incoming attacks, but the ship continues to shake fiercely while sparks, loose boxes, and debris begin to rain down in the cargo bay.

Bex comes to her senses and clamors to her feet, but her mild concussion confuses her legs and she trips and falls while she and lose cargo are flung across the floor, side to side.

"SAM!" Kuade calls from the upper deck stairs and leans far over the railing to reach down to her, "JUMP!"

Bex can just barely see his blurry hand stick out from his blue sleeve. She runs to it, trying to maintain her footing and pushes off the ground. He catches her by the wrist and in one burst of energy, throws her high up into the air, several feet above his head like she weighs nothing. Her breath snags in her throat when she sees Kuade's cheerful face several feet below her. He opens his arms wide and catches her clumsily against his chest.

"Gotcha, kid!" he beams happily.

"H-how did you..." she pushes away, but walkway starts to sway.

"No time. Come on!" Kuade jerks her by the arm up the remaining steps just before the walkway comes crashing down, tossing metal shrapnel everywhere. They lean safely against the reinforced walls of the hallway and pant hard by bracing their hands on their knees. The ship continues to shake with muffled rumbles, but no sparks or boxes fling about the hall.

"Are.. are we under a-attack?" Bex tries to speak between breaths.

"Sort of? Another Lorca Maneuver. He means to make a good impression."

"On who?"

"His crew? The Klingons? Himself? Who knows!"

Bex half laughs, "You know, Charlie may be madcap with a death wish, but at least he never threw me down in steerage, _literally._ Is this typical Starfleet treatment of Intelligence Officers?"

"Ha! You're not much of an officer, Sam. The only intelligence you've provided is a Klingon menu plan. _Big deal!_ Lorca's fighting a _war!_ You're upset you dropped off his radar? Good! Better _you_ than any of his other 200 more capable crewmen."

"How do you know the Captain spoke with me?"

"This ship travels fast and so does its gossip. Word on the grapevine says your free ride coming to an end. Lorca loathes inutility and you're a POW, turncoat who can't work a tricorder."

"I'm not here to run his ship," Bex growls.

"Then get the Captain's attention! Excite him. Make him angry! Give him the old 'Bexel Charm,'" he winks, "Otherwise the _Marquis_ is toast!"

"Let's send them a message they won't forget! GO!" Lorca instructs over the comm, "Drop the bombs!" the ship jumps again, making Bex's head throb, even more, causing her to fall back against the wall.

"Ah!" Kuade's sea legs kick in to help him stand, "Another bait 'n switch. Lure the Klingons in with a tasty snack and then blow them to bits with dynamite!"

"Congratulations, _Discovery,_ " Lorca's voice echoes over the comm, "We have secured Crovan 2."

"Finally!" Kuade breathes out and stretches as the normal running lights of the halls switch back on, "We survived another day aboard... Hmm?" he looks down at his chest and notices a smallish piece of triangular metal poking out from his skin.

"Oh my God..." Bex drops her jaw in horror. Kuade cranes his long neck around and finds a two-foot piece of debris jutting out from his back, skewering him straight through the sternum, "J-just.. just stay calm!" Bex panics trying to think, but he does not seem bothered at all. Stiffening the palm of his hand, he pushes down on the small triangle sticking out from his chest, forcing the shrapnel backward out of his body. It clangs to heavy to the ground and shines when perfectly clean chrome, not a spot of blood. He gingerly pats his torso with his fingers and his wound heals instantly, leaving only a trace of torn fabric. Bex steps away, amazed and terrified.

"Well, now you know I can do that," he answers annoyed from revealing his big secret.

She narrows her eyes, "I'm not _that_ concussed... am I?"

"...Adrenaline."

"Adrenaline?"

"Yes. The epinephrine hormone has an interesting effect on the human body during fight or flight reflexes. It can make a person capable of incredible feats of strength and... _rejuvenation_ ," he lies poorly.

"Human?" she accuses more than questions, carefully walking backwards down the hall. She should act more surprised after just discovering Kuade's new superpower, but the way she dissects her comrade with her eyes indicates a hint of knowing, "Yeah... whatever you say, lover boy," she turns and saunters back to her dorm.


	5. Ch 04 - I AM KLINGON

**Chapter 04 - "I am Klingon"**

Bex comes face to face with her first Klingon since escaping Donatu V.

* * *

 **NOTE:** *Spoilers* I crammed Bex into the prison scenes with Lorca and Ash, thus some extra dialogue and a new scene have been added, but almost everything else remains cannon (the Klingon BoP is upgraded to a 3 seater). I've also attempted to give Landry a more sensible death. *End Spoilers*

 **TIME:** The following story happens during the episode _Choose Your Pain_

* * *

Four hours into a shuttle taxi, Bex and Lorca sit across from each other in utter silence. The two are alone, save for the pilot, but he isn't talking either. She remains clueless as to why she rides this passenger vessel and has no idea where it's headed. Her only instructions were to wash up and go to the shuttle bay. It could be another several hours of painful silence before they reach their destination, and she needs something to distract her from the dull pain of her concussion.

"Where are we going again?" she finally musters.

"Mm?" Lorca answers inattentive while staring out the window behind him. The blue of the stars paints his face, "Briefing."

"I wasn't aware I was included in on briefings."

She catches his attention, " _You're_ coming with me so the new vice admiral can reinstate you into Starfleet."

" _What?_ "

"You'll be training aboard the _Discovery_ and will follow _my_ timeline for completion."

"Our agreement was for me to provide Klingon intel, not sign my life away forever to a glorified space camp," Bex argues.

He chuckles and crosses his arms, "You still think you have some kind of choice in the matter? You're a criminal, and I won't have you impersonating an officer if you can't even follow basic protocol."

"Are you sure you're not the one impersonating an officer because you're unlike any Starfleet captain I've ever met."

The pilot clears his throat and Lorca's expression drops. He licks his lips and leans forward with an intensity on his face that Bex has yet to see, "You don't want to get too friendly with me. There are far more conscionable captains in Starfleet," he speaks in a low slow voice, "The Academy was too easy on you. You've spent too long with Charlie. He's turned you bratty. Recalcitrant, but I'll break you of that," he leans back in his seat and returns to looking out the window. Not another word passes between the two.

* * *

The _USS Enterprise_ acts as the rendezvous point for Lorca's briefing. The Constitution-class Starship stands much larger than the _Discovery_ and possesses far more morale on board. Bex waits half asleep outside the main boardroom. Her chair looks reupholstered and the metal walls surrounding it looked freshly polished. Potted plants carefully decorate the hall up to the large waiting room area. Each shrubbery has its own water replicator, artificial sun and climate control field. This is the flagship of Starfleet so even the plants are spoiled.

Bex checks the clock to confirm her wait now passes the two hour mark. If this is just another attempt by Lorca to waste the Marquida's time when she could be surveying her ship, then he truly is diabolical. She stands to her feet and paces the hall a little. The two officers playing guard outside the boardroom keep a close eye on her. She runs her fingers through the various shrubs and happens on a wall decorated with portraits of past _Enterprise_ captains. A good 40 frames spanning about 200 years back hang neatly in a grid on the wall. Quick turnaround working this ship. She recognizes a couple of blondes.

 _Captain Charles Beauregard II, 2141-2177_

 _Captain Charles Beauregard III, 2189-2232_

"Spitting images of Charlie..." based on the number of wrinkles around their eyes, both of these captains look to have taken command of the ship and died at young ages, _No wonder Charlie has such a complex. What a legacy,_ thinking about him makes Bex feel a little antsy, _I'm wasting time, but what else can I do? The_ Marquis _remains out of commission, Loralee has not made contact, there's no proof that she and Charlie even escaped. It could be months before the next step is in place. What else is there to do, but wait?_

As she debates quietly with herself, she spots a familiar pair of black pointed ears exiting the boardroom. Vulcan Admiral Terral, whom she recognizes from her time at the Academy, makes no attempt to introduce himself. He simply nods his head once and briskly returns to his ship with the escort of one of the officers guarding the doorway.

 _If he's not reinstating me, who is?_

"Bex," the remaining officer calls and gestures towards the boardroom door, "The Vice Admiral will speak with you now."

* * *

"Cut the crap Gabriel..." snaps a slightly familiar sounding voice as Bex enters the main boardroom, lights low. Lorca's annoyed face greets her while his fingers fiddle with some kind of medical pen. An older woman sits across the table with her back to the door, but there's no mistaking that long gray bob.

 _Cornwell!, Bex's heart sinks._

The _Enterprise_ grande dame turns around in her seat and grins politely, "I know," she rises, "I'm the _last_ person you expected to see," Cornwell holds out her hand for a shake which Bex accepts with slight hesitation, "Don't take it out on Gabriel. It was my idea to bring you here," she gestures to Lorca and takes a deep breath, "We never got a chance to talk after the Invocation. I wanted to apologize to you _personally_ and give you my condolences on how the Donatu V situation was handled. It was _unfortunate_ , a blight on Starfleet's record and an oversight I mean to correct with my career as Vice Admiral."

Bex remains silent, jaws clenched and back arched. She does not roll her eyes or make any banter. She just stares. It's difficult for her to take in the Admiral's words.

 _She's very eloquent..._ the defector worries.

"I feel the way in which Starfleet has handled your situation has influenced a lot of the _choices_ you've made these past months. _Choices..._ that I am willing to forgive," Cornwell replies with a bit of indecision, snagging Lorca's interest. The Admiral's eyes glint, "Your introduction into Starfleet-into this _era_ was unpleasant and unfair. They both deserve a second chance, as do you," she presents a copper cadet badge, "I can't bring your comrades back, but I maybe I can bring _you_ back."

Bex slowly accepts the offering, allowing the weight of the badge to rest heavy on her fingers. Interestingly, she bears no ill will towards the bulky trinket and instead feels the swelling sensation of nostalgia, "You really _are_ letting me back."

"Consider this a clean slate, pending your graduation, of course. You don't have to make a decision now. Think about it," Cornwell smiles sweetly then turns to Lorca, "In the meantime, take care of her, Gabriel. She _is_ a national treasure, after all."

Lorca smiles sarcastically, "21st Century Human."

"How's my ship doing, by the way?" the subject changes.

"Might be a few more weeks for repairs. Marquida did a number on her. That multi-warp drive has been a pill to fix," he answers indifferently but gives the Bex all the information she needs.

"I want it back. Not a scratch."

"Thanks," Bex replies informally and closes her fist around the badge, "I mean-Thank you, Admiral," she catches herself and forces a smile.

"Don't worry. It'll come back to you," Cornwell seems very happy how this meeting has gone. She excuses Bex from the room and returns to a previous discussion with Lorca, "By the way, there's something I didn't bring up, lest you think I was piling on. The matter of Michael Burnham."

"No, no, no. Starfleet regulation 139-82 allows you to conscript virtually anyone in time of war. And so I have."

"Yes. Twice! A deserter is one thing. This organization's only convicted mutineer is viewed by many, justifiably or not, as the cause of our conflict with the Klingons..."

The doors shut behind Bex, blocking her from the rest of the conversation.

* * *

Meanwhile, back on the _Discovery_ , the recent successful jump to Corvan 2, thanks to the newly discovered Tardigrade species, has the ship in bright spirits. Stamet's contribution to the war effort does not go unnoticed. Crewmen greet and congratulate him as he walks the halls. Nothing, too outrageous, just a simple head nod and smile, but it's enough to launch the Lieutenant's ego into orbit. He tries his best to hide his excitement with his typical killjoy attitude, but when he enters the cafeteria and is greeting by a round of applause, he loses almost all restraint.

"Oh! Thank you, thank you. Please! Ah! Return to thy meals," he takes a seat at a table by himself and strains to keep his cheeks from contorting into a toothy grin. He flips to a bookmark in his paperback copy of, _Flatland_ by Edwin Abbott Abbott and pretends to read, but his mind flutters in thoughts of accomplishment.

 _THACK!_

Detective Kuade drops down a tray of pancakes and joins him.

" _UAH!_ " Stamets takes a moment to remember his name, "F-Friday?"

"Paaauly!," Kuade greets as if their old friends.

"Is there somewhere else you can sit?" the Science Officer's sunny disposition does an immediate 180.

"Oh, I tried sitting over by Burnham, but she chewed me out," he starts to cut into a pancake.

"And you think I'm not going to chew you out?"

"You know, she is the _second_ female Michael I've ever met," Kuade ignores Stamets' obvious irritation, "I knew this couple, back in the day. Very religious. Fundamentalist Baptists. _Ugh._ Named their firstborn daughter, Micha. Beautiful name. Little did they know the _meaning_ of the name; ' _One who is like God',"_ he emphasis those words and Stamets can't help but think he's being accused of something. Kuade continues, "Oh! As you can imagine their horror when I brought this up at little Micha's baptism. How _sacrilegious!_ They would be _shunned_ from the congregation along with the rest of the drunks and hip swayers. Luckily, I was there to reconcile the situation and christened the girl, _Michael_ ," he shrugs, "My first suggestion was Frida-"

"What do you want?" Stamets says with big eyes and staccato words.

"I wanted to ask you about something..." the Detective pretends to be embarrassed, "I was just sorta wondering how old Boomer was doing?"

"Boomer?"

"Boomer. The-the big... Uh," he swipes his hands like claws and makes a growling noise.

"The Tardigrade?"

"Yes! How is he?"

"You call him, _Boomer_?"

"I think he looks a bit like a Boomer. Tardigrade is so hard on the teeth. What do you call him?"

"...the Ripper."

Kuade makes a wry face, "Too hard on the conscience. Can you tell me how Boomer's adjusting to his new chattel position here aboard the ship?" Kuade takes a bite of pancake.

Stamets huffs and folds he arms, "Why do you care?"

"I'm a bleeding heart," Kuade give puppy dog eyes.

"You're a weirdo!" Stamets sits uncomfortably glancing around the room to see if someone can rescue him, "And I-I don't know! I can't communicate with the creature. I can't ask how it's feeling."

"Ah, but aren't _words_ such a truncated form of conversation? Plenty can still be understood through nonverbal-communication alone. For instance, right now, I can tell that you're completely full of yourself!"

"Excuse me!?"

"After _years_ of failure and dead fungus, you've finally perfected your experimental S-drive, only it comes at a _terrible_ morality cost."

Stamets opens his mouth to say something, but then stops a moment, "What are you getting at?"

"Boomer is a _magnificent_ creature. A perfect _tour de force_ of evolution. Able to survive _anything_ this universe can throw at him; heat, cold, phasers, black holes," he holds his index finger up, "Except a Starship..."

"How do you know so much about this species?"

Kuade speaks earnestly "Simple observation. It doesn't take an exobiologist to see when a creature is in _distress_ and your use of Boomer is rather undignified, don't you think?"

Stamets goes quiet and takes a couple of heated breaths, "Lieutenant Friday. I don't know what you're getting at, but I will _not_ have a subordinate questioning my work. I am revoking your access to my lab. I'll find somebody else to fix that damned panel!" his chair squeals hard as he abruptly leaves the table, feeling embarrassed and insulted.

* * *

Lorca and Bex return to the transport shuttle, both dawning blue Starfleet uniforms. When the shuttle takes off for its four-hour long voyage back home _,_ Bex checks her reflection in the window. She dawns a rankless cadet's uniform with copper metal pleating and details. Her heavy rectangular cadet badge pulls down on the fabric of her overcoat.

 _This thing is skin tight!_ she pivots her body and uses her reflection to loosen the stiff collar. Lorca's bright blue eyes reflect off the window next to hers as he watches her body language. He can read his new cadet like a book.

"How's it fit?" he senses her unhappiness. Perhaps, she feels like a traitor to the Marquida, "Looks good on you."

Bex frowns and returns seated forward.

"Not happy?" he asks.

"You kidding? I just got pardoned," she smirks. He says nothing in return and simply shakes his head to look away, but only for a moment. Without warning, the shuttle turns an alarming green and slams to a halt.

"Warning," the all familiar computer voice speaks up, "Incoming warp signature detected. Klingon class D7 battle cruiser identified. Tractor beam engaged," an annoying alarm sounds.

The pilot wastes not a second more and whips out of his flight deck. Lorca throws him a phaser rifle from off the weapons rack, but Bex cowers away from the opening hatch. Three Klingon soldiers force their way inside the craft and skewer the pilot through the chest with multiple daggers.

A Klingon in white easily disarms the Captain and shoves him by the throat up against the window, "Captain Lorca," she spits and takes him along with Bex as prisoners.

* * *

A mold covered cell door slides up and Lorca and Bex stumble through, their arms and shoulders bruised from rough handling. They ride on some kind of junker Klingon ship ill-equipped for war. The smell hits their noses first; stale sweat mixed with burnt embers. Everything looks brown and covered in half an inch of dried who knows what. Lorca strains his eyes to see and runs into another prisoner.

"Ouch!"

"Who are you?" the Captain grabs at his new cellmate.

"The name is Mudd. Harcourt Fenton Mudd. Harry for short. And I reiterate. _Ouch!_ " replies a scruffy, balding man with a long brown coat and several rings on his fingers.

"Where are we?"

"On a resort off Antares Minor," he says with a big grin, "Try the spa. The hot-stone massage is delightful."

" _Where are we?_ " Lorca reiterates.

"Typical Starfleet," Mudd frowns, "No fun at all. We are on a Klingon prison vessel. Particularly nasty one."

The Captain takes a step around the room and glances over to his new cadet who rubs her face, clearly in distress, "You okay?" he asks.

Bex smiles with effort, hands on hips, lungs burning, heart pounding 160 beats a minute, "I should've known being in Starfleet would eventually wind me up in here. Just didn't think it would happen within _hours_ ," she manages to maintain her composure despite fighting the urge to panic.

"Hmm?" Mudd fakes sympathy, "You're a cadet! Oh, you poor thing! I bet this was your first away mission, too. Oh-ho! _Tragic!_ Is this the first time you've been captured by Klingons?"

She unclenches her jaw, "No."

"Really! Well, no wonder you look so calm. Most people don't take recapture so well. Your previous experience must've been more _pleasant_ ," Mudd tries to stir up trouble. He reminds the time traveler of her first introduction to Kuade. Unlike that meeting, however, where her new acquaintance's motives were unclear, Mudd's are transparent. He means to poison the well early.

"Donatu V is anything _but_ pleasant," the Captain, a veteran in game theory, answers for Bex.

"Donatu!?" Mudd seems disgusted, "Why would you ever go to Donatu?"

"What's a civilian like you doing on a Klingon prison vessel?" Lorca changes the subject.

"The only crime I'm guilty of is loving too much," the eccentric man fawns, "It's true, captain. I fell for a woman far beyond my reach. Sweet Stella," he chuckles, "Her family didn't approve of me, so, I had no choice except to try and buy her father's respect. Scary, scary man. So, I borrowed a large sum from some non-traditional lenders, and gifted her with a moon. It worked like a charm. Until I fell behind in my payments. Hm. The creditors came after me. Chased me into enemy territory, right into the Klingons' arms, who deposited me here, where I await my fate," Mudd rambles, but neither Bex nor Lorca really pay attention.

Bex checks out the cell. It's piss yellow and made of reinforced, two-foot thick titanium steel. A large shelf hangs off on the wall to be used as a bunk, otherwise, prisoners have to take turns sleeping on the floor covered in dust, dried blood, and anti-proton particles. It's stuffy, hot. Everyone drapes their coats open while gasping for air in the high nitrogen atmosphere.

"...ooh..." a Starfleet officer groans in the corner. His face purple from being beaten. Lorca walks over to help him to his feet.

"Oh, I wouldn't bother with him, Captain," Mudd warns, "I believe the technical term for his condition is 'out to lunch,'" the cell door slides up, "Here comes the floor show..." the eccentric man replies uneasily raising his arms in surrender.

Two bony headed Klingons enter the smaller carries a disruptor rifle and the eight-foot tall blue goliath arms himself with only his muscle.

"CHOOSE. YOUR. PAIN." the behemoth barks in English, but like all Klingon's, his pronunciation is stilted and vulgar sounding. He looks at Mudd and Mudd looks at Lorca and Bex, and then points to the injured officer on the floor. The giant stomps over to the officer and pulls him to his feet only to punch him in the face and then throw him head first into a metal buttress. The ragdoll endures a few rib cracking kicks to the stomach before his face is finally crushed with the back of a heel.

The remaining prisoners recoil in horror at the sight of fresh blood. The sight causes Bex to drift towards the back of the cell to distance herself from witnessing the Klingons dragging the dead body unceremoniously down the hall.

"They may look stupid, our Klingon hosts. They're anything but," Mudd explains, his voice low and serious, "They regularly give us the choice to choose our pain. We can accept the beating ourselves, or pass it on to our cellmates. It's our captors' way of keeping us from bonding."

"You seem conspicuously free from bruises," Lorca makes a note.

"I've learned how to choose wisely. Don't judge. You're gonna wanna stick with me. I'm a survivor. _Just like you_ ," he points at the Captain, giving him a knowing look.

 _SCRAAASSSH!_

The cell door opens wide again and the massive blue Klingon storms in directly towards Bex. He grabs her by the throat and yanks her out kicking and screaming. Mudd stands to the side, eyes wide and mouth agape, making no attempt to help. Lorca tries to step in, but the giant swats him against the wall with little effort.

When the door slams down and Lorca calls out through the barred window, " _BEX? BEX!_ "

* * *

Kuade makes several attempts to enter the Engineering Testing Bay, but the computer keeps refusing his badge.

"Access denied."

"Access denied."

"Access denied."

" _Damnit!_ " he grunts and heads back down the copper colored halls towards the main hull.

A boatswain whistle rings through the intercoms and Saru addresses the ship, "Attention crew. This is acting captain Saru. I have just been informed by our admiral that Captain Lorca has been captured by the Klingons while on route from the _Enterprise_. All officers to battle stations for mounted rescue," followed by a Yellow Alert.

The crew scrambles the halls, but Kuade continues at his normal unconcerned pace until he spots an exhausted looking Burnham.

"Michael!" he greets big making her instinctively sidestep.

"Lieutenant Friday..." she continues towards Engineering, her head buzzing with disquietude. The Ripper's health steadily deteriorates at an alarming rate after subsequent jumps with the S-Drive, but Burnham finds no sympathy amongst her crewmates. Against her better wishes, the weight of the situation displays painfully obvious on her normally emotionless face.

"You look a little under the weather," he joins in her walk, "Are you stressed?"

"Thank you for your concern, Lieutenant, but I am fine," she walks a little faster despite her muscles begging for sleep after fighting a long night of moral quandary.

"Ah yes. 'Fine', as in 'My personal ethics contradict my duties as an officer, but that's _fiiiine!_ '"

Burnham stops and turns slowly to face Kuade, "I was not aware that counseling was under the umbrella of _Operations_."

"Just a concerned friend. You're obviously struggling to reconcile your conflicting emotions in regards to the welfare of the Tardigrade. He's not doing good, is he?"

"How do yo-There is no conflict. My priority is the life of the Captain and the security of this ship. Until Lorca is safely back on board the _Discovery_ , the comfort of the Tardigrade comes second," she informs in a matter-of-fact, almost monotone tempo.

"Aw... that's the Vulcan in you talking. How do you _feel_ about this?"

"My feelings play no part in this decision. Logically, the Captain comes _first_."

"You seem to be under the gun, although we _are_ dealing with Klingons, so I understand your impatience. People tend to forget that Klingons, as barbaric as they are, follow a strict code of honor. They know a prize when they've captured one and a Starfleet captain will live longer than a civilian."

"Are you suggesting that we prolong the Captain's possible torture?"

"No! No.. I'm simply pointing out that our situation is not as dire we fear. There is time."

Burnham tenses her shoulders and contemplates having to possibly detain this mutinous officer, "Time for _what_ exactly?"

"To save both the Captain _and_ the Tardigrade."

She blinks and her expression relaxes.

Kuade continues, "If you're worried about my intentions, please understand, I am not a danger. I am a scientist. An intellectual. I, like you, know for a fact that a problem can have multiple solutions and one solution can solve multiple problems."

Burnham tilts her head in request for him to continue.

"This is not a trolley problem where you must choose one life over another, Ms. Burnham. _Remove the train from the track_ ," and he briskly leaves the scientist to her thoughts.

* * *

Bex's detainer pinches her arms tightly against her back while he escorts her to what looks like a Klingon version of a Captain's Ready Room. A large table with electronics and stones sits under a dim orange light. A Klingon female in white armor waits in the center of the room. An odd color choice for this species. The cream contrasts harshly against the dark green stripes along her severely elongated skull.

The detainer forces Bex to stand at attention while the Klingon woman makes a quick inspection of her prisoner. She pulls hard on Bex's hair to get a better look at her cranial scar and then aggressively pulls at her shirt to expose another, rather ugly looking gash across her stomach. The Klingon looks satisfied and then offers a seat.

"Sit. Sam. Bex."

Bex's breath waivers when the Klingon matriarch speaks her name. The detainer releases her arms and shoves her towards a stool, but she remains standing.

"SIT!" he roars and painfully forces her down unto the seat.

The Klingon woman then looks to her enforcer and nods for him to leave. Bex takes in as much of the Klingon face as she can, trying her best to decode how she knows her name and scars. This is the first time she's seen a Klingon up close since escaping Donatu V. Usually, her quick wit and charm can help ease out such a precarious situation, but her mind draws a blank.

"L'rell," the Klingon gestures to herself and stands to the other side of the table.

"H-how do you know m-my name?" Bex squeaks but receives no answer.

[How do you know my name?] asks again louder in broken Klingonese.

L'rell looks pleased that the human can speak, [Kol told me.]

Bex's breath hitches in her throat and all the muscles in her body tense up in at the sound of that name.

[Oh? You fear Kol.]

[I-I _hate_ Kol,] Bex answers bluntly.

[Ah... So do I].

[You are not of House Kor?]

[No. I am of House Mo'Kai and acolyte of T'kuvma, The Unforgettable.]

The human shakes her head. The names sound unfamiliar and L'rell tries to hide her disappointment.

[Kol talks about Donatu V a lot. Says he found your human colony up in the mountains,] the Klingon matriarch begins to walk around the room casually, making sure to use simple words for her Klingonese challenged prisoner, [Says he killed you all. All 100 humans.]

[He lies.]

L'rell spins around interested.

[He only killed 9 of us,] Bex corrects.

A laugh escapes through the Klingon's wide pointed nose, [He is not honorable. Yet, the Great Houses choose to follow him and not T'Kuvma, because T'Kuvma spoke the truth and Kol speaks lies.]

Bex gets cocky, [He lies because he is _weak._ ]

L'rell snaps her head around, [He is not _that_ weak!] she snarls, [Kol is a fool, but he is _strong._ Strong enough to impress House D'Ghor. Strong enough to kill a 1000 more humans,] she pauses, "Strong enough to kill. _Sam. Bex._ "

 _Shit. I've insulted her,_ Bex swallows hard as cold sweat beads down her face and neck. The door to the chamber slides open and two Klingon guards enter carrying four large trays of alien looking fruits and vegetables. They lay the trays on the table in front of the women and then stand guard on either side of the doorway.

L'rell takes a seat, [House Mo'Kai are spies,] she explains and stabs some kind of yellow, tendrilled vegetable with a _naH-taj_ , [ _I lie,_ but not about my strength or accomplishments. You lie as well,] her eyes flicker up, [Lie about knowing Kol and Donatu. You are a Starfleet spy.]

[No.]

[YES!] the Klingon bearing her shark-like teeth. She calms and then tilts her head, [You look hungry, spy,] she reaches over and hands Bex her _naH-taj,_ [Eat.]

Bex just stares and refuses to take the knife.

[ _EAT!_ ] L'rell yells causing the metal trays to buzz. Bex jumps and quickly takes the blade making the guards behind her comfortable. She looks at the food on the table and recognizes almost everything. Fruit of Qo'Nos, brought and cultivated on Donatu V. All of it deadly to humans, save for one.

The Klingons watch as Bex studies the produce and picks a rather dull looking, fibrous orb from the middle. L'rell leans back intrigued with her selection. The fruit, Bex doesn't know the name, is cross between a coconut and a durian fruit. It comes equipped with about two inches of inedible, wood-like skin and mushy, foul smelly gray meat. The guards behind her quickly draw in a breath before she slices the _naH-taj_ into the shell, releasing its noxious fumes of decaying flesh and diesel. L'rell blinks hard, and Bex grimaces as memories of life on Donatu flood her mind. She gingerly pulls apart the shell to expose the gooey, slightly opaque meat inside. She sets down the knife and dabs her two fingers in the horrible goo and brings it to her lips. Surprisingly, the flesh tastes quite sweet, like vanilla.

One of the guards begins to gag as the small fruit thickens the room with its aroma. Bex swallows and looks L'rell in the eye as proof of her knowledge of Donatu V. The Klingon matriarch says nothing.

 _KNOCK! KOCK!_

Big blue knocks at the door, [He's ready.]

* * *

Acting captain Saru enters the Engineering Test Bay and Kuade stands outside, leaning against the adjoining wall, listening. Although the doors are thick, the Kelpien's pinched voice rings clearly through the metal.

 _He's going to be a problem..._ the eavesdropper assesses.

Saru attempts to get his crew, specifically _Burnham_ , to heed his orders to prime the S-drive, but Kuade has planted his seeds thoroughly. The mutineer isn't budging and requests more time to spare the Tardigrade. The detective feels somewhat sorry for the gazelle-like alien. Saru's heart is in the right place and shows the capability of command, but this little tiff will cut his self-confidence deeply. Will he worry if the doubts of his crew are a product of his being a Kelpien; a fearful, paranoid race of prey? Or are they doubting him because he is in fact, NOT ready for command?

Kuade muses on these ideas while Burnham attempts to stand her ground.

"Saving this Tardigrade will neither bring back nor change the fact that this is exactly the kind of behavior that killed captain Georgiou!" Saru shouts through the walls.

"...damn," Kuade admits defeat.

The stick alien exits the Engineering bay making clicking sounds in anger with his threat ganglia in full salute. He takes a moment to calm himself and gingerly pat down his tendrils before he discloses his sensitive disposition to any more of the crew.

" _Ahem_... captain to Commander Landry," Saru address the Chief of Security Officer's communicator, "The Engineering team requires your assistance _at once_."

"Yes, captain," Landry responds.

Saru returns to the bridge, never noticing Kuade slipping pass the doors.

The detective quietly slinks into the corner shadows of the Testing Bay and bends down behind one of the standing station desks. No need to be too sneaky since the team bickers back and forth about 'how to do the right thing.' Kuade keeps his eyes fixed on Burnham, willing her to make the right choice.

She brings up an interesting point, "It's not like I haven't done it before. High Command can't sentence me to life in prison twice."

"Please keep your martyrdom out of this," Stamets looks trounced, "Nobody's asking you to commit mutiny again. The Tardigrade is capable of one more jump."

"Stamets is correct," Landry's loud voice cuts through the room when she promptly arrives in the bay, "There will be _no_ mutiny aboard my ship," she confidently saunters down the steps, a charged phaser clearly hanging on her hip, "Why isn't the creature being prepared for jump?"

"Commander Landry, please listen," Burnham pleads, "I know you feel that the Tardigrade is nothing more than monster, but I believe it is peaceful and sentient. We cannot force it to comply."

"We wouldn't force a prisoner to do this," Tilly speaks up. Landry turns her head to glare in disapproval of the interruption and the cadet's cheeks turn almost as red as her hair.

"Let me explain this to you in simplified terms," Landry pivots her head back to Burnham, "The _Captain_ has been in Klingon custody for over 12 hours. That is is more than enough time for a Ceti eel to burrow into his ear and wrap around his cerebral cortex. The pain will be excruciating leaving our Captain vulnerable to suggestion. Do you understand what that means?"

"Yes, but-"

"The Klingons must never learn about this ship's secrets. You are not just putting the life of our Captain at stake, but you are putting _my_ life at stake, the lives of the crew, and the lives of the _trillions_ who depended on the Federation during this war."

Burnham stammers speechless.

 _And I thought Saru was domineering,_ Kuade swallows.

"Prepare the Tardigrade," Landry demands in a slow calm voice.

"Energize," Stamets replies almost immediately.

The haggard and swollen creature beams inside the spore chamber and screeches when pierced through the back and chest with the Glenn probes. Kuade steps out from hiding and watches Boomer whimper weakly in exhaustion.

"Lieutenant Stamets, are you ready?" Saru checks in over the comm.

"Yes, Captain..." Stamets hesitates before entering in commands into the console. He looks up at Burnham with sympathy.

Landry tilts her in astonishment at his reluctance, "I never expected this kind of behavior from you, Lieutenant," she threatens more than states.

He takes in a sharp breath, plugs in his coordinates and the ship jumps. The Tardigrade wails as energy and mycelial information painfully force their way out of its quantum brain. It startles the stoic Landry a bit, this being her first time to see the S-drive in action. The Engineering team diffidently look away after becoming all too familiar with the display.

The probes eventually retract and the creature jerks violently before going limp.

"No!" Burnham jumps to the chamber and stabs her fingers into the panel.

"Warning. Failure to initiate spore-drive deactivation sequence. Spore chamber active. Density at 79 percent," the computer warns. Burnham attempts to force the chamber doors open faster. Kuade runs over and with almost impossible finger strength, slides the glass door sideways for her, spilling blue spores into the room.

The creature's indestructible shell looks softened and anemic. Its whole body the consistency of gelatin as it lays lifeless on the floor. The Chief of Security steps into the chamber first to determine if there is any danger. Her hand intuitively reaches for her phaser and awakens the Tardigrade who senses the threat.

" _RRRRWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!_ " it rears up back to life and chomps down on Landry's shoulder, slashing its many arms wildly about. Kuade grabs Burnham by the waist and pulls her out of harm's way just as Boomer forces itself out of the chamber.

"Computer lights on now!" Burnham screams and the computer obeys, causing extreme pain to the photosensitive Tardigrade. It drops Landry before collapsing into a mushy heap beside her.

"Oh.. my..." everyone looks on in horror as liquid ooze spews out of its body, sloshing over the floors until the marvelous creature shrinks down to a fifth of its original size.

* * *

" _Oooff!_ " Bex rolls across the dirty floor of the prison cell and the door slams down behind her.

"Oh. You're alive!" Mudd sits relaxed on the only bench in the cell. His coat lays beside him as he gently strokes some kind of red stick bug, "You don't look too bad. Did they even torture you?" and then he wrinkles his nose, " _UGH!_ What's that _smell_."

Bex slowly stands to her feet while Mudd recoils in disgust. She looks around the room for Lorca, "Where's the Captain?"

"Gone," croaks a young human in the corner. A very young man, hardly in his mid-twenties, "They came and took him just a few minutes ago."

She looks towards the doorway worried. Sure, Lorca can be a bit abrasive and authoritarian, but that certainly doesn't qualify him for torture!

"You're from the _Discovery?_ " the young man asks stepping into the light. His skin shines pale and marked red from repeated beatings. He's rather boyish, with floppy black hair and big dark eyes, "Lieutenant Ash Tyler. _USS Yeager,_ " he offers a clammy hand.

Bex takes it, hoping that the smell of Qo'Nos fruit doesn't rub off on him, "Samantha Bex."

"Shit, you just started," he takes notice of her shiny new badge, "I wish I had some food left, I'd offer some to you."

"I'm not hungry," she quickly answers, "L'rell. Uh, she has a funny way of interrogation."

"Is _that_ what that smell is?" Mudd questions from across the room.

Tyler seems uncomfortable, "Y-you met her..."

"Yeah," Bex takes a seat along the wall and tries to wipe her hand off on her uniform, "She's... _interesting._ "

"She is..." Tyler says weakly and sits on the floor next to Bex.

"You've been interrogated by her before?" she asks making his face grow paler.

"Lieutenant Tyler here happens to L'rell's _favorite_ pet," Mudd blabs, lifting his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Bex is not a child. She knows what that means, "I.. I'm sorry."

Tyler shrugs tying not make a big deal of it, "At least I'm alive..."

"How long have you been here?"

"According to your captain, about seven months."

" _Really?_ "

"How long was your first stay with the Klingons, Miss Bex?" Mudd inquires, trying to get more information out of her.

"...a little longer than that."

"Hm, and I've been here about _ehh..._ a few months. Is Lorca the only one who hasn't enjoyed an extended stay at hotel Klingon? Hmm... Perhaps we should ask him _why?_ " the plotting man attempts to cultivate doubt in his cellmates and then returns to stroking his bug.

"Don't worry. You'll get used to _him_ ," Tyler offers, "If he doesn't get you killed first."

"I'm used to eccentric personalities, just never this machinating."

 _SHREEE-THAACK!_

The prison door slides open once again and Lorca blunders into the room. He rubs his bloodshot eyes, one hand outstretched before him reaching for something. There's dried blood on his chin and his uniform hangs torn. He locates Mudd and snags him by the collar.

"Now let's be adults, and use our words, please!" Mudd pleads as his pet bug jumps up his shoulder.

Lorca grabs the insect, "Stealing food was just a diversion," he forces the creature's wings back, "He's been transmitting everything we say to the enemy," and plucks off small metal gadget and smashes it on the ground, "When I first got here, I dropped a little conversational nugget to see if either of you could be trusted, and I just had my words parroted back at me by the Klingon captain," he winces once more at the pain in his eyes, "You've fed intel on every prisoner that passed through here," he throws the bug hard against the wall.

" _SCREEEEEE!"_

" _AHH! No! Stuart! Stuart,_ " Mudd cries collecting his tiny friend, "You almost killed him!"

"I know men like you. Throw anyone they can at the wolves. But you're finished," the Captain threatens, "And when it's time to choose our pain, we're choosing you, until there's nothing left."

Tyler returns to his feet and nods dutifully in agreement with Lorca. Bex can see that this young man makes friends impressively fast. Even Mudd fails to hide his surprise at Tyler's quick turnaround in loyalties.

"Captain, are you really gonna let this idealistic young man humiliate himself by siding with you? Hm? And what about your cadet? Have you no decency, Lorca? Actually, that was a trick question. I know you don't. We both know you lost that with your last command," Mudd turns to Bex, "This is just a _tasting_ of the hell your captain will be putting you through. Unless you prefer cowardice."

"What's he talking about?" Tyler asks when Lorca loses his gruff composure.

"The tragic tale of the _USS Buran,_ " Mudd speaks for him, "It was ambushed about a month into the war. The Klingons boarded it and blasted it to smithereens. Only one crewman managed to escape. _Gabriel Lorca,_ " he bites down on the name, "Apparently, the honorable captain was too good to go down with his ship."

Tyler and Bex narrow their eyes with skepticism. Mudd may be a conniving liar, but the way Lorca's confidence slipped him so easily at the name _Buran_ makes the two worry. The Captain studies his young cellmates; Bex, the new recruit, and Tyler, the optimal loyalist, both sheltered from recent Starfleet politics and both deserving of the truth. Despite how much it still hurts him to say aloud, it would be better heard from his mouth rather than Harcourt's.

"Mudd's only half right. We were ambushed, and I did escape. But I didn't let my crew die..." Lorca pauses a moment, " _I blew them up._.. I knew what awaited them on Qo'noS. Degradation. Torture. Slow, public death. It's the Klingon way to spread terror... Not my crew... Not on my watch."

A chill in the air enters the stuffy cell and everyone unconsciously leans away from Lorca. Tyler looks slack-jawed and dispirited and Bex's lips grow thin as a hot pain begins to form her stomach.

Mudd tries to hide a smile, "Well, they say confession is good for the soul. Too bad none of us have one anymore."

" _Cough! C-Cough! Coff!_ " Bex coughs from deep within her diaphragm, but it's not the hot ash from phased bodies tickling her throat.

"Ohhh?" Mudd looks at her curiously when she wipes a bit of dribble from her lip, "They _did_ do something to you."

* * *

Cadet Tilly transports Landry to sickbay leaving Burnham, Stamets, and Kuade to stare at the shriveled cryptid on the floor. Burnham bends down and gently presses her hand against its shell. Ice cold, not even a hint of life present. Her tricorder trills as she begins scanning, checking every possible reading her device can pick up. Stamets looks away, arms crossed, heel tapping not from impatience, but from the struggle to confront his culpability.

Kuade subtly shakes his head at the disgrace before him, "I'm sorry old friend..." he whispers to Boomer, "I tried."

Burnham frantically waves her tricorder wand around the creature, but can't find anything remotely suggesting life.

"He's alive. Don't worry, Michael," Kuade consoles.

"Who _are_ you?" Stamets snaps, "Why do you insist on interfering?"

Kuade doesn't look up, but tightens his lips and heaves, "You _humans_..."

Burnham stops her scanning and raises her head.

"You may be a warp 1 capable race, but your behavior and understanding of this world have hardly improved since the days of the _homoerectus._ A _Klingon_ would know better than to use such a preternatural creature as common cattle. _That_ is why I interfere, Lieutenant; to keep your idiot species from blundering about the whole universe."

The two officers just stare at Kuade in disbelief and he quietly retires from the Engineering room lest he reveals any more secrets.

* * *

The cell door opens for the last time. The prisoners make note of the recent shift change. The jolly blue giant appears to be on break and his replacement, a shorter grayish Klingon, must compensate for his smaller muscle with a very long disruptor rifle.

"Choose! Your! Pain!" he screeches at Lorca.

"Choose me, captain," Tyler mumbles with determination in his eyes. How quickly the Captain earned the young man's loyalty despite the harrowing confession. Though, disparity after months of watching Mudd slowly kill off his crewmates might be Tyler's true inspiration.

"I fully support that idea," Mudd points with his hands up.

"You'd do this for me," the young man reassures, "Choose me."

Lorca stares at the young officer in astonishment and then shifts his eyes to Bex who nods, standing ready for action.

"Choose! Your! Pain!" the Klingon screeches again and Lorca gestures his head towards Tyler.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Mudd backs away relieved, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

The gray Klingon smashes his rifle into Tyler's face and pushes him to the ground, but the young stud recovers and begins tosses his own punches. The Captain uses the distraction to attack the other guard, taking his disruptor rifle and using it as leverage to break the alien's thick neck. Tyler manages to snap his the other Klingon's neck with just muscle alone, but the fight leaves the young man painfully winded.

The two heavy bodies clunk onto the floor. Lorca removes both of their rifles and tosses one to the woosey Tyler. Bex picks up the only option; a small four-pronged dagger hanging off the gray guards' thigh.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Mudd says amazed.

"Getting out was always a two-man job," Tyler informs the creep, "I just waited till I found the right man."  
"You played _me_? Oh. _Bravura_ , Mr. Tyler. I doff my cap," Mudd grabs his coat, "Now should we proceed to our Raider?"

The Captain shoves him back in the cell, "There is no _we_ , Mudd. You sold us out. _You stay_ ," he motions to his cadet, "Bex. Let's go."

"You can't be serious!" Mudd's heart breaks.

"Oh, but I can," the Captain smashes the back end of his rifle against Mudd's jaw so that Bex can slip past.

"You can't do this!" Mudd sputters blood, "I can't take it in here anymore. Please. I promised Stella I would come home to her. Please! I promised. No. No. No," Mudd begs through the barred window, but the three quickly make their way down the corridor, "You can't walk away from me, Lorca. I'm coming for you. You hear? You haven't seen the last of Harcourt Fenton Mudd!" his voice echoes throughout the ship, alerting more guards.

Three Klingons rush down the corridor at the sound of Mudd's winging. Lorca and Tyler peak around the corner and aptly shoot the threat down. A fourth tries to flank, but Bex punches with her four-pronged dagger, bouncing the alien off a wall. He counter-swings, but she kicks him to the wall again. Lorca spins around and shoots the flanker, bursting the scaly creature into a puff of green smoke and disruptor burns. Bex accidentally inhales some of it causing her cough to return. Tyler tries to keep up with Lorca, but the Lieutenant's adrenaline and legs give out.

"Hey. Get up, soldier. _Get up,_ " Lorca grabs the Lieutenant by the sleeve to drag him while Bex trails behind.

"I'm... I'm slowing you down, sir..." Tyler whimpers.

"Go. All right, take cover," the Captain shoves both of his subordinates to the wall between to two bulking columns, "I'll find a way out and come back," he steals a glance down the hallway.

Bex tries to stifle a cough and shakes her head, _Liar._ _I've heard this before. He's going to leave us._

The captain sees her animosity, "Hey, _hey!_ " he grabs her by the collar and forces her to look at him in the face. His eyelids burn red with pain, "Look at me. I'm not going to leave you here! You're familiar with Klingon technology, yes? Can you read their language? Good. I need your help to fly us out of here. _Understand?_ "

She nods and the Captain recharges his disruptor rifle before disappearing down the next corner. The hall turns silent and the two injured prisoners sit leaning against their corresponding columns, gasping for the little bit of oxygen left in the air.

 _Tap... tapp... Tap..._

Tyler goes ghostly again when a familiar something approaches down the hall. Bex looks over her shoulder and glimpses the white of L'rell's armor. The Klingon coyly strolls down the corridor, flipping a dagger in her hand in an almost flirtatious manner, "Did you really think you could leave me?" she purrs with surprisingly good pronunciation, "After all we've been through."

The boyish soldier swallows hard and clumsily climbs to his feet.

"Wait..." Bex urges, reaching out to stop him.

He pushes her hands away and drops his rifle, " _Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaggggg!_ " he releases all his rage and tackles his tortureress, knocking her to the ground. Her thick skin easily absorbs the blows of his fists as he hits her over and over again across the face.

 _Thut... thutt... Thu..._

A familiar large Klingon detainer rounds the other end of the hall. Bex's feet react faster than her head and she stammers up to try and block the preoccupied Tyler from the blue colossus. She holds the small dagger out in front trying her damnedest to look intimidating while her eyes hunt for the disruptor rifle. She spots it almost ten feet down the hall.

 _Shit!_ she panics, _I have to stall him..._

A quick backward dodge roll to the right and she can secure the weapon, but a different, yet equally stupid idea comes to mind. She places the dagger behind her back, makes a fist with her other hand to cover her heart and bows.

" _AAGH!_ " the Klingon storms forward in offense, [You _dare_ curtsey to me you disfigured abomination! You are _worthless_! Lower than even human.]

Bex smirks, [Oh? I am Klingon.]

 _PFFFFTHOOOOO!_

A green bolt of fire bursts through giant's chest extinguishing the menace in a puff of anti-climatic green smoke. Bex steps out of Lorca's way as he aims down the hall.

" _Tyler!_ " he signals to duck and shoots the Klingon woman on the side of her thick face. She shrieks in horror while her impenetrable skin begins to disintegrate into smoke.

The captain pulls the Lieutenant up off the floor, "I found the docking bay. Get up. Let's go!" both he and Bex support the injured Tyler and limp down the hall.

* * *

A three-seat Klingon Bird of Prey sits idle in the docking bay. The helmsmen and copilot stations take the front of the shuttle and the weapons station sits in the back upper level. The transparent top and sides of the shuttle's hull point like bat wings and the inside shines dully in that same dirty yellow color.

Lorca straps in at weapons, "I need a map of the area," he requests and Bex begins frantically tapping through console menus in search of the correct Klingon glyphs. A map projection appears in front of Lorca and he scrolls through it while Tyler starts flipping engine switches.

"Our destination is the edge of Klingon space... bearing 20, mark 48. How do I control this thing?" Lorca asks fiddling with two joysticks on either side of his seat.

"Left stick is phaser cannon, right stick is lock on," Bex explains while she scours her memories Klingon hieroglyphs, "Err... Top button is overshoot. Hold down to charge."

"How fast can this thing go?" Tyler's voice sounds grave and strained.

"Warp..." Bex reads the console, "4."

"Go!" Lorca commands.

The escapees skip through the speckled dark red of space in their stolen vessel, but their ride is not peaceful. After only a few minutes, green torpedoes blow past the shuttle as Tyler proceeds with evasive maneuvers. Despite his injuries, he can rely on his second nature piloting reflexes.

"Redirect all auxiliary power to shields," Lorca requests calmly, but Bex starts having coughing fits again. The screen turns blurry while her eyelids squint from the burning in her throat.

"Blue panel on the right," Tyler jumps in for her.

"Hang in there, cadet! Five Raiders in pursuit. Closing fast," the Captain warns.

"Your eyes. That happened when you destroyed the Buran, didn't it?" Tyler inquires as he deftly dodges torpedoes.

"We choose our own pain. Mine helps me remember."

The five raiders begin to surround the shuttle like lionesses to a zebra. Two run out in front to slow the pack down while the others lock on with their cannons. A tiny gray dot on the horizon warps into view.

"Federation Starship _Discovery_ to Klingon Raider," Saru hails the shuttle _,_ "Identify yourself."

"Well, what do you know? The cavalry showed up. This is Captain Lorca. Three to beam out. Now."

"Lower your shields, Captain Lorca," Saru informs.

A thousand lightning bugs rush across everyone's skin and weightlessness fill their bodies like if falling through the air a hundred feet up. Instinctively, they all stand and prepare for the hard thud of landing on the transport platform.

 _THUD!_

The too weak Tyler fails to catch himself and falls to his knees on the transporter stage. Lorca reaches out to him and pats him on the shoulder, "Captain to Bridge. You got us. _Jump!_ " he addresses the comm system.

 _WRAANG! BLACK ALERT! WRAAANG!_

Bex takes a haggard breath as the room continues to spin despite being in the correct atmosphere. That burning in her stomach grows worse and it raises the temperature all over her body.

"Easy, soldier. You're home," the Captain address Tyler.

"T-thank you, Captain," the Lieutenant cannot describe how grateful he feels to finally be back on a Starship and breathe a clean lung full of air.

"Thank you for what? Dragging you back into the war on a ship with a target on its back?" the Captain smiles lazily.

"There's no place I'd rather be."

"Bridge to Stamets," Lorca addresses the comm system again, "Congratulations, Lieutenant. Excellent work," but silence answers, "Lieutenant Stamets, do you copy?"

"Sir," a crewman checks his console, "Stamets is in Engineering, but it seems his life signs are in distress,"

"What? Get him to sickbay!"

 _THUDD-DUD_

Bex trips a little when stepping off the transporter platform and doubles over as her stomach begins to cramp uncontrollably.

" _Damnit,_ " Lorca moves to brace her, "I'm taking the two of you to sickbay."

* * *

The Captain guides both Bex and Tyler to the medical wing of the ship, pushing firmly on their backs to steady them. The time traveler begins to act bothered by this and slows down forcing the Captain to push on her harder.

"I... I can't..." she mumbles, "No.. I can't!"

"Come on, cadet!" Lorca gets annoyed, "Doctor Culber!" he calls out, "I have two more for you!" Bex starts to slip past his reach so the Captain snatchers her hard by the arm.

Tyler enters sickbay first and Lorca informs Culber of the situation. Bex slowly twists her arm out of the Captain's grip and doubles back down the hall, moving very ungainly as the colors in her vision start to kaleidoscope.

"Bex? Bex!" Lorca shouts at her exasperated, "Where the hell are going? Get back here!"

She waves him off and uses the wall to support herself as her knees begin to lock and stiffen. She gets maybe a whole 15 feet down the hall before her stomach knots again, causing her to fold over in pain.

" _Cough! C-COUGH!"_

She exhales a massive lung of blood and spit.

"Shit! _Doctor Culber!_ " the Captain runs up to Bex as crewmen back away from the blood-spattered floor. She feels a familiar hard tug when Lorca wraps her arm around his shoulders.

"I got another one here!" she can feel his throat vibrate as her ear presses up against his neck.

She attempts to push him off, "I... uhm.. _fine!_ " but it is no use fighting with the lights cutting on and off. She slips in and out of consciousness and goes weightless again. Lorca hooks his arm under her knees and in one swift movement, pulls her up off the floor and carries her like a princess back into Sickbay.

When placed a bed in a very brightly lit room, Bex catches pieces of a conversation, "...think... poison... cough... blood... asphyxiation..." and then feels a sharp pain in her neck followed by the sound of a dull hiss.


	6. Ch 05 - Detective Lorca, PI

**Chapter 05 - Detective Lorca, P.I.**

Captain Lorca investigates who or what poisoned Bex.

* * *

 **NOTE:** I've been relying WAY too much on dialogue. I blame my experience with script writing. (If something is supposed to happen in a story but the character does not say, write, sign or heavily gesture that thing, then it never happens.) I will try to add a bit more imagery as well as hold back on the 'to be' verbiage, but you may not see these effects in a few more chapters...

 **TIME:** The following story happens between episodes _Choose Your Pain_ and _Lethe_

My Characters...

 **Saul:** 50, Human, gambler, Construction Crew Manager. Tubby, hairy, looks and sounds a the Magliozzi brothers from NPR's _Car Talk_. Served time during the Klingon Cold Wars.

 **Howard:** 20, Human, Junior Construction Engineer. Sweet kid, hardworking and loyal, but naive. Probably the most normal person on the _Discovery._

* * *

Another pinch followed by a dull hiss and Bex awakens to the blinding white lights of the Sickbay. Her stomach and intestines feel like lava about to erupt out of her body. She grips her stomach with pale, wet arms and Dr. Culber administers another round of antibiotics via his hypospray.

"There. That should take care of the gastrointestinal pain."

"H-how... Lon-" she croaks out her throat dry from dehydration.

"Almost 18 hours," he answers with a sweet voice while increasing her IV drip, "Luckily, I was able to synthesize an antibiotic to help leach out the poison deposits on your kidneys and liver."

 _GRRUURGGGLEEEE_

Bex's stomach growls with hot indigestion. Culber notes the worry in her face, "The fresher is right over there. There's no need to feel embarrassed. Your body is doing exactly what it needs to do to rid itself of the poison."

Culber helps his weakened patient to her feet and escorts her to the backroom with her IV drip stand. Bex takes a seat and Culber gives her some privacy in the small but fragrant room. To her comfort, the toilet seat is heated and cushioned. She refuses to listen to some _Mozart_ when the computer offers. The murmurs of nurses and the clanking of medical supplies heard through the door seems much more comforting than _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik_.

She rests her head against the wall to her side and notices the light bleeding through the bottom of the door dim.

"...Doctor Culber!" for some reason, perhaps because she needs to evacuate her bowels, Bex feels embarrassed to know that Captain checking in on her, "..she doin'?" his voice barely registers.

"She is taking a moment... much better than expected. Besides the minor concussion and lacerations... Multiple organ toxicities... kidneys, liver... heart is fine..." Culber's soft voice answers.

"Was it poison...?"

"...tests came back... synthetic compound of..."

" _Arsenic!?_ "

"...in her stomach... 3.3 grams... worst I've seen, but we have effective treatments..."

"Klingons aren't known for poisoning... their food has arsenic..."

"Was she invited... any dinner parties?"

"..."

"I have something else to show you..."

The two men walk towards the other side of the room and their voices fade to silence. Bex remains hidden away in the refresher until the light at the door increase in intensity, proving that the Captain has left the sickbay. The cold chill of the main room greets the beaded sweat on her body when she returns to the bed.

"Ah! You just missed the Captain," Culber helps Bex back onto her bed so that she doesn't knock her IV out, "He wanted to speak with you, but I told him you weren't interested. How are you feeling?"

"...better," she admits and rolls to her side to sleep.

Several hours later, Bex checks out of sickbay. Her skin still looks a little green, but the sweating fits are gone as well as the need to empty her bladder. Culber instructs her to take it easy and briefs her on the diet she must follow for the next several days. He writes a nutritional prescription to feed to the replicators and implores Bex not only to drink at least 124 ounces of water for the next 5 days but for her to also speak with the guidance counselor aboard the ship.

"It's common procedure with all staff members who have spent any time in enemy custody. I don't want to pressure you, but if you could schedule a time some point this week, that would be great."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Oh!" Culber remembers one last thing, "Your new PADD and communicator," he hands her a thin gray touchscreen and a smaller device with a gold cover that flips up to reveal a speaker. Both devices have Starfleet Academy engravings, "Welcome back."

* * *

Crewmen dash down the hall, running into each other and shouting instructions. For a second, Bex assumes an enemy attack. She checks the lights along the walls and spots no red or yellow and no signs capsizing.

"Excuse me, Commander? What's going on?" Bex spots an older Caitlin.

"W-whuh? Sorry, I can't chat," he turns down towards Engineering.

"Shipping Bay to Impulse Deck," a voice requests over the comm, "Shipping Bay to Impulse Deck."

A familiar group of mechanics in orange coveralls speed walk their way down the corridor, "Oh, Howard!" Bex tries to jog up to them but stops when her stomach tries to cramp. They slow down to her pace, "Are you finished with the _Marquis_?" she asks.

"Nah," the young mechanic answers, clearly exhausted from a long day's work, "We've just been temporarily reassigned. Lorca's been in a bad mood ever since he returned to the ship."

"Yeah!" speaks up Saul, the rotund overseer of the group, "We've been meanin' to ask you what happened with the Captain. We got a bet goin' whether or not he squealed about the _Discovery_. I got two bars of Lathium ridin' on he did," his accent resembles something you would hear in old Earth Jersey.

"Boss thinks Lorca blabbed to the Klingons about the ship and now he's scrambling to have everything ready for battle," Howard explains, "I don't get it. I mean. If he really thought the ship was in danger, wouldn't he just take it out of commission?"

"Nah," Saul dismisses, waving his big hairy arms, "Ship's the only thing left he's got to play with. He's ichin' to let her off the leash. So uhh, Bex. What happened in that prison ship? Cap spill the beans?" the group of seven make their way up the steps to the Impulse Engine Room.

"More like he was bugged, but I don't think the Klingons got much."

"Ehh.." the large man complains, "That's not enough to settle the bet either way!"

She chuckles a little, "Sorry about that."

They arrive the burgundy marked hallway of the upper deck. This end of the ship is new territory for Bex and so are the several new faces she can't recognize. Having a shiny cadet's badge awards new access privileges.

"Well, looks like we've arrived. See ya around, Bex," Howard and the others wave goodbye and disappear into a tightly packed Impulse Deck. The cadet retraces her steps, taking her time to learn the new areas of the ship now available for exploration. She pulls out her PADD and looks up the deck map of the _Discovery_ and takes notice of a room nearby called the _Stellar Cartography Lab._

* * *

The small, completely white room on the outermost ring of the saucer holds the ship's database for all known chartered planets and star systems. All the Science Officers in this room have been reassigned, so Bex checks out the central hub unattended. The roundtable prompts her for coordinates. She names the few planets and nebulas she can remember off the top of her head and a large, detailed hologram projects the information. The map shows not only the topographic and resource information but population densities, weather patterns, as well as images of from previous decades.

"Show Earth."

"Earth, Sol III of the Sol System. Capitol Planet of the _Federation of Planets_. Population, approximately 4.2 billion humans."

Bex watches in admiration as the projection of Earth spins in front of her. The lights of a million cities can be seen dotting along its surface and oceans. Some areas of the planet that were formally dark to her, such as North Korea and Central Africa, are now brightly lit with life. Massive satellites and space station's orbit around her home as small fireworks from ships launch and land on and off the planet.

"Can you show me Earth in the year 2017?"

The hologram flickers a moment as the computer loads the simulation.

"Unable to load complete projection. Not enough cartography data found for the year 2017," the computer apologizes and projects a very plan, incompletely lit planet.

Bex's heart sinks, "Why is it incomplete?"

"The earliest completed data for Earth only go back as far as 2057. Prior to this year, most information about this planet's known development, resources and topography was either lost or altered during the Third World War of 2026 to 2053."

"Altered? By who?"

"The Third World Won of Earth was a devastating genocidal conflict over the right to genetically modify the human genome. The conflict ultimately led to nuclear fallout and many of the planet's top governments were destroyed along with the lives of over 600 million people. The recovery of this planet's civilization continued well into the 22nd century and much of its written history has been lost. Any information you can provide about this planet's development prior to the year 2057 should be submitted for verification to the _Earth History Restoration Initiative_."

Bex turns off the projection and rubs her face in slight shock.

 _I've missed out on quite a lot..._ She decides to begin her Starfleet training in _Late 21st Earth History._

* * *

The Cadet cruises the other decks of the ship and uncovers that the _Discovery_ has the latest version of a holographic phaser arena, but oddly, no jogging track. A familiar sweaty feeling graces her body, so she takes a break in the ship's main and better furnished cafeteria. Rectangular white picnic tables stretch out in the middle of the dining hall and blue leather couches make up the lounge area. Having been over 42 hours since her last non-Klingon based meal, Bex feeds her prescription code to one of the replicators and it conjures up some kind of purple porridge.

"One Sick Day Rice and Andorian Vegetable Soup. This meal is full of vitamin A, vitamin B2, vitamin B6, vitamin B12, vitamin C-"

"And X, Y, Z. Thank you," Bex snatches her oddly colored soup and sits at the tall half tables flushed against the hull windows. She tries the soup and cannot identify any of the produce included.

"I guess salt is not allowed on this diet," and takes out her PADD to begin reading about World War III.

Upon her re-arrival to Earth almost a year ago, she had the inkling to read up on the two centuries she skipped over, but thought better of it. Better to remain spoiler free if she were to ever return to the year 2017. As she sits in the cafeteria, attempting to drink her saltless soup, she speculates about her family and their involvement in World War III. Did they fight and if so what side were they on? Did they survive? Does she have any descendants in the year 2256?

"Stop," she warns herself before she those emotionally dangerous thoughts get stuck in her head. She allows her purple soup to cool in the dim light of the milky way as an old conversation comes to mind.

* * *

"Do you ever think about your family?" Charlie asks Bex as they sit bored on the _Marqui_ and warp across the Vulcan sector, "Like, do you have any out here?" he inquires about his First Officer's past anytime they're caught in the middle of long stretches of nothing. Bigger ships have hologram theaters, gyms and libraries. The Marquida rely on small talk.

"I try not to think about it," Bex answers bluntly while she sits leisurely and fiddles with her HUD mask.

"Why?"

"Charlie!" Roh cuts in, "Leave her alone."

The cowboy complains regularly how unfair Roh can be with her telepathy and how a Captain should be privy to his crew's backstories. Having a telepathic team member who can't reliably control her powers does often cause issues with keeping secrets. Roh may know about Bex's past more than anyone, but she remains reverent and keeps her lips shut. It can cause jealousy with the rest of the crew.

"It's an innocent question," the Marquida Captain defends himself, "I'd go out lookin' for my progeny."

"Some people aren't as curious as you," Roh sympathises.

"I guess," Charlie leans back in his chair in a humph, "I just think it'd eat away at me knowin' I might have someone out there."

"Request to speak freely, Captain," Bex asks.

"Request granted."

"Shut up."

The three laugh and return watching the glowing streaks of the stars glide past the ship.

* * *

Bex returns to her now cold bowl of soup and misses both its warmth and the warmth of her companions. One companion seems to have gone missing recently. Odd since he routinely checks up on her at least six times a day despite her protests. She pulls out her new communicator and instructs it to contact Lieutenant Joseph Friday, but it buzzes for almost a minute without an answer. No choice, but to continue her tour of the ship.

The secondary hull, where the shipping, cargo and engineering bay located, remains primarily off limits to the Cadet. She sticks to searching the halls, but finds no sign of of Kuade or his toolbelt. After a few return passes down the corridors, her frustration peaks.

 _This is so unlike him! Why am I getting so mad?_ she gives up and returns to the lift.

 _DINK!_

The doors of the turbolift open and two officers step out; one with tight posture and an assured gate, the other a little more aloof.

"Burnham," Bex greets the always composed ex-First Officer.

"Bex," Burnham nods her head and takes notice of the new uniform, "Congratulations on your new reinstatement into Starfleet."

"Oh.. uh, thank you."

"Cadet Samantha Bex, this is Cadet Sylvia Tilly my roommate," Burnham introduces the bubbly redhead to her side, "Tilly this is-"

"The 21st Century Human!" she squeals brightly, "That is _so awesome!_ " she takes Bex's hand graciously, "I mean, what a century am I right? Not only is it mankind's most technologically progressive era, but also its most _bloodiest._ I bet you have _so_ many stories-"

" _Tilly,_ " Burnham interrupts almost embarrassed by her roomie.

"Oh! Sorry," the redhead winces and her pale cheeks burn pink, "I tend to get carried away sometimes."

"No, it-it's fine," Bex gives a small smile, "That's... one of the warmest greeting I've ever received."

"Oh, thank you!" Tilly beams back.

"Are you looking for the Captain?" Burnham changes the subject. Her eyebrows look slightly pinched in concern.

"Oh no. Should I be?"

"He was looking for you."

"Haven't heard from him. I was actually just looking for Lieutenant Friday."

" _Friday!?_ " both Tilly and Burnham respond in unison.

"Do you know Lieutenant Friday? What can you tell us about him?" Tilly asks genuinely interested.

"Uh, know him? I don't _know_ him. I was just wanting him to fix the uh... buzzing coming from the oxygen vent in my dorm," Bex lies, "He said he would look into it."

"He should be down here somewhere," Tilly cranes her neck down the hall.

"Yes, Friday has formed quite a liking to the Engineering Bay," Burnham says as if she has just bit into something sour, "We have had to bar his access to many of areas down here."

"But if we see him, we'll let you know you were looking for him," Tilly offers sweetly.

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that," and the three depart their separate ways. Burnham and Tilly head deeper into the secondary hull and Bex returns to the saucer. Contacting the Captain may be the newly reinstated Cadet's best option, but crewmen still tear down the halls like headless chickens and Lorca keeps barking orders over the loudspeakers. She'll wait. For now, she continues her studies in the lounge area near the main bridge.

* * *

 _EARTH WORLD WAR III, IMPORTANT FIGURES 1.23_

 _Colonel Philip Green, whose motto was "Overwhelm and Devastate", called for the euthanasia of millions of humans affected with radiation poisoning from World War III. This was to prevent their damaged genes from being passed onto future generations. Colonel Green was also notorious for striking his enemies during peace treaty negotiations and was the leader of an eco-terrorist faction that ultimately led to the death of some 37 million people._

Bex reads Earth history from the year 2055 to 2065 for several hours until she checks the clock at about 1:00am San Francisco Time. She rubs her tired, blurry eyes and decides on dinner. The replicator delivers her next prescription meal; some kind of brownish-green juice made with produce from another alien planet.

She takes a seat towards the back end of the cafeteria, tries her juice, and gags at its sickeningly sweet flavor. A few crewmen join her in the mess hall, their backs aching from a long day bent over their consoles. She can hear them talk bad about the Captain and how some other so-and-so Captain is better, but she finds their gossip not particularly interesting.

Returning back to her PADD, Bex sips on her vegetable sugar drink and skims some of the other icons on her device. The lights of the cafeteria dim and crewmen voices speak up.

"...Captain."

"Sir.."

"At ease."

 _THAACK!_

Bex quickly looks up and meets the piercing blue stare of Lorca.

"Captain," she says weakly and sits up uncomfortably in her chair.

He doesn't reply, but digs his spoon into some kind of pastry. A pair of officers glance at their table and when Bex looks to meet their faces, they turn away and pretend to not be interested. The Captain takes in a big mouthful of dessert and then creases his eyes at his cadet. Based on his posture and his angrily tapping heel, she deduces that he's upset with her.

He swallows, " _tlhIngan jIH"_ he quotes coolly and a lead ball forms in Bex's stomach, " _tlhIngan jIH,"_ he continues, "'I am Klingon,'" he takes another bite, "Is that right?"

"I can explain."

"Please do. I'd prefer a confession before I throw you back in the brig."

The cafeteria goes quiet and Bex feels about ten pairs of eyes turn towards her. She attempts to maintain composure, "I'm pretty sure I've already told you this story."

"I'm pretty sure you didn't," he says coarsely as he licks his teeth.

Bex looks around the room the now very interested room. It comes with the territory of being not only a time traveler, but a Klingon refugee; everyone wants to hear a good story. She's avoided sharing her past with almost everyone who's probed her for information, but her place on _Discovery_ and the security of the _Marqui_ are now at risk. Most people wouldn't hesitate to boast about their old war stories, but Bex isn't one for gloating. The damned scars still ache to this day and of course Lorca chooses to interrogate her in front of witnesses. At least she can be thankful that the cafeteria isn't busier.

The Captain leans back in his chair, arms crossed impatiently waiting.

Bex takes a deep breath and her face begins to redden, "About two months after my arrival on Donatu V, there was a second shipment of humans, bringing our total number to 125. Only, the vessel they arrived in was neither human nor Klingon."

Lorca's eyebrows raise a little.

"We had always thought it was the Klingons who abducted us, but there was a third species orchestrating our imprisonment. Don't know who, but the Klingons were afraid. A group of them came to us some time later claiming that they couldn't leave. There was a... a _barrier_ of some kind that their ships couldn't penetrate. They were stuck on that planet, just like us. So, instead of just continuing to kill each other, we formed an alliance."

The Captain leans forward on his elbows and weaves his fingers together.

"Of course, it wasn't just _that_ easy. We had to _prove_ to the Klingons that we were _worthy_ of such an partnership. They put us through various... trials," Bex's eyes drift a little, "Pain ascension... rite of passage... We all had to go through it. Those of us who survived were given House names as proof of merit. Thus, although I am not related by blood, _I am Klingon_ by legal right."

The Captain clicks his tongue and finishes the story for her, "And with this Klingon name, you were able to secure your alliance, learn their language, their technology, their weapons and eventually escape."

"In so many words, yes."

He leans back a little and ponders, "What's the name of your House?"

"Hmm? _Poq._ Nothing impressive. It's a made up House name. Though, if you ever want to try Qo'nos Bitter Melon, let me know. I own 200 fields of it back on Donatu V."

He frowns unamused, "Do all Klingons acknowledge your title?"

"No. The ones on that rogue vessel never mentioned it, but they still knew who I was."

The Captain raises an eyebrow.

"During my torture session, I was... treated to dinner."

"Were you?" Lorca feigns surprise.

"As I explained before," Bex continues, "Most Klingon fruit is toxic to humans. That's one of the first things we learned on Donatu. The Klingons brought seeds from Qo'nos, so we couldn't eat anything that grew on that planet, save for one thing. Never learned the actual name of it. We just called it a Durian-nut. _Putrid_ , awful smelling thing, but nutritious. L'rell, that Klingon woman in the white armor, she knew about the Durian-nut and used it to test me. She uh... had her doubts."

Lorca thinks, "Hm... Never heard of a Klingon using poison before. Seems beneath such a confrontational race. Did you use any of their utensils?"

"Yes, but just to cut open the fruit. It has a very thick and fibrous skin. I should have only ingested trace amounts of arsenic."

"Culber said you had a lethal dose."

"I guess, I was wrong! I failed the test."

"Or you're lying to me."

"What? Y-you think I poisoned myself _intentionally?_ " Bex questions a little exasperated.

He shrugs, "Story doesn't add up. I knew your allegiance to the Marquida was going to be a problem. Never thought I'd have to worry about _Klingons_."

Bex swallows a little as the ten pairs of eyes around the cafeteria laser in on her. She leans in close to Lorca and implores him in a low voice, "Captain. You once said trust between us had to be earned, but you can't extend the olive branch of peace and let go of the other end."

"Well said," he leans forward to meet her eyes, "But my gut instinct and 30 years as a soldier tell me otherwise," he looks up passed Bex's face and signals.

A large hand slaps against Bex's shoulder, "Samantha Bex," a very deep and gravelly voice commands, "Come with us," two soldiers in the black uniforms and black badges pull their new prisoner up to her feet and force her from the cafeteria.

Bex rolls her eyes, "Captain. Is this really necessary?"

Lorca calmly returns to his pastry avoiding eye contact, but the rest of the crewmen spare no shame in gawking at the show.

"Captain!"

* * *

Back in the brig, Bex sits on the floor with her back against the wall. She can feel her stomach begin to rumble again. She already asked the guard for some water, but the small 4oz. cup he provided will not keep her intestines at bay. As the hours pass and the ship vibrates at low warp, Bex attempts to sleep.

"There you are! What are you doing back down here?" she has a visitor.

"Kuade? Where the hell have you been?" she squints.

He sighs, "In mourning. It's been an emotionally grueling day for me. You wouldn't understand the pain I'm in..." he declares unironically while leaning lazily against the force field wall, "So, how's the mission going?"

"How do you think it's going?" Bex gestures to her cell.

"Well, _obviously_ you gave the Captain some bad intel. Although, he's been in a particularly foul mood lately, whipping the whole crew blue," he seems almost bored.

"You don't seem concerned."

"Hm? Concerned about what?" Kuade strolls apathetically around the bridge, "Oh, right. You've been arrested again. _Ugh!_ " he rolls his head sardonically, "Well, you probably deserved it. What'cha do this time? Insult the Captain's hairline? Punch him in the nose?"

"I was _poisoned_ ," Bex bites with malice.

"Really! _Ha!_ This whole crew is dropping like flies. First Commander Landry, now you," he laughs.

"Wait. What happened to Landry?"

"The Tardigrade killed her!" he shouts as if it's old news.

"The... _waterbear?_ "

"Yes. A _big_ one. _Gah!_ You've missed so much down in steerage. Somehow, somewhere Landry got a Boomer aboard the ship and pushed him too far. He retaliated. _He had to._ I tried to stop it."

Bex remembers the Captain's private laboratory and how a great big something trashed everything. It was clear that some other _animal_ was in the room with her.

"Poor thing. Didn't deserve that," Kuade sympathises.

"Yeah. Landry was harsh, but she didn't-"

"I'm not talking about Landry," he speaks with a hint of cruelty in his voice that Bex has never heard before, "As far as I'm concerned, the whole team deserved the same fate... except for maybe Burnham. She's the only one who seems to have her head on straight," his focus drifts away, lost in some nostalgia forgotten so long ago, "What magnificent encounters we have aboard this ship. A treasure trove of unlimited universal access...," he floats around the brig lost in his thoughts and memories of some old acquaintance.

Bex stands to her feet, "Kuade, something's wrong. Ever since we came aboard this ship, you've seemed... different. _Distracted._ I think you've been compromised and now our mission is now at risk. Kuade...? _Kuade!_ "

He ignores her and just continues to pace and mutter to himself about prototaxites stella viatoris and the multiverse skeleton key.

 _I've lost him,_ she fears, _Heh. I've lost control of this whole damned situation. I'm First Officer of the_ Marqui. _Command falls to me when the Captain is away, and here I stand in prison while my Engineer loses his mind._

Bex has never seen Kuade so erratic, so mostly harmful. He's never shown such disinterest in her, despite his previous claims of concern over her possible incarceration. Now he meanders around her cell as if he can't even see it. That bothers the time traveler more than anything. Her enigmatic warden should be wrapped tightly around her little finger, but now he's found a way to unwind himself.

"I'm jealous..." Bex whispers in defeat.

"Hm? Jealous?" this catches his interest.

"I'm going to have to bring this up at your end of the year review..."

"Bring what up?"

"I'm not your first priority anymore. How irresponsible of you, Detective," she pouts her lips slightly. If she can't get Kuade to acknowledge the unexplained changes in his behavior willingly, she will have to rely on a Lorca Maneuver.

"What do you mean? Of course you're my first priority," he rolls his eyes, "I've been _busy_ these past few days."

"So busy, you couldn't even visit me in Sickbay?"

"Sickbay!?" he sneers.

Bex point so her neck, "Check the hypospray welts."

"...Oh lord, you're serious," Kuade expression drops and he steps up to the cell, "Why were you in sickbay?"

"I was captured by Klingons. _Tortured_ by them!"

"Whu-uh.. But, when?" he tries to put two and two together.

"When the Captain and I returned from the _Enterprise_."

His mouth falls open and he shakes his head, "Uh... b-but, I was told that only the Captain was taken."

"It's been over two days since we last spoke. Did you even know notice I was missing?" Kuade seems thrown off by that measurement, "That's already a punishable offence considering the sensitivity of our mission, but you make a _lousy_ friend."

"I.. uh... busy, I-" he steps in place several times and presses his hands against the netted force field. The officer standing guard stiffens at Kuade's inability to keep his hands off the cell, "I found something...," the detective answers in a hushed voice.

Bex walks over and presses her hands against her side the wall so they line up with his, "A something that's worth jeopardizing our whole mission?"

" _Yes!_ It could benefit us both _greatly._ "

"What is it?"

"I can't explain it... not easily, but I can show you," he checks over his shoulder for the guard who grows irritable, "Listen. Lorca is going to want to speak with you again, right? Before he kicks you off the ship? Whatever you did to piss him off, _apologize._ It is imperative that you stay on the _Discovery,_ _by any means necessary._ When he releases you, I'll show you what I've been working on-" the guard at the doorway shifts and clears his throat. Kuade turns back to Bex, his hands still pressed against the cell wall. He taps his right index and middle finger twice, followed by his pinky.

 _TIME 0100 HOURS._

Then all five fingers of his left hand tap, followed by his right thumb.

 _DECK 5_

And then he briskly leaves without another word.

* * *

"Enter," Bex returns to the Captain's ready room the next morning, but of course, in space, it always looks like night. Lorca leans on his 'V' shaped standing desk while a Tribble gentle purrs asleep next to a bowl of fortune cookies. The Captain glances over to the door and grins at his visitor, "Mornin'! How'd you sleep?"

Bex steps up to the desk frowns as her answer. It was a rough night writhing on the floor with stomach pain. She catches up on sleep via extending blinking and fights the urge to yawn.

"Good news! I finished your investigation," he switches on his PADD and a schematic of the _naH-taj_ projects out, "Burnham discovered that the... _fruit knife_ you've identified was reinforced with a synthetic arsenic compound. As you already know, Klingon physiology requires high amounts of the element to properly function. Like sailors of old Earth who required vitamin C to combat scurvy during long voyages, the Klingons are supplementing their diet by using utensils made from arsenic. You only _thought_ you were ingesting trace amounts. Lucky for you, our talented Doctor was able to synthesise an antibiotic and save you," he switches off the PADD, satisfied with his findings, "Story checks out, Bex."

She nods impressed, "Was the brig really necessary?"

He hides a smirk, "Probably not."

"So, I've just made _that_ bad of an impression on you."

"I told you, you need discipline. I already have one science officer stepping on my toes and I can't risk my crew seeing a former Marquida do the same. You're not a vigilante anymore. You're Starfleet officer."

"An officer you're not using to her full potential."

"Believe me. I wish I could, but unlike Burnham and Tyler who actually _like_ Starfleet, you hate being on this ship. You hate wearing that ensignia, but you wear it because the Admiral promised you clemency. I'm personally not too keen on her idea, but she thinks you're worth saving. My opinion; you're an enigma. I can't find any information on you that isn't classified or complete works of fiction."

"Take it up with Command. They're the ones trying to keep Donatu under the rug."

"Starfleet's not budging. Admiral Terral briefed me on what little the Vulcans know, but whatever happened on the planet has everyone spooked. I'm in the dark as far as your background is concerned and I can't have any more liabilities on my ship."

He gives Bex her cue to start defending herself, "If you're worried about my old Klingon alliance, don't be. It came to an abrupt end when my Vice-General cracked me over the skull with the blunt end of his _bat'leth._ "

The Captain suppresses a chill, "Alliances come and go, but loyalties are harder to break," he speaks carefully and steps up closer to his cadet, "Many POWs who have spent extended time in enemy custody often show compassion or _bias_ towards their captors. It's nothing to be ashamed about. War is _ugly_ and causes soldiers to cope in many irrational ways," he shows concern in his eyes, but Bex finds it offensive.

"Are you accusing me of being a Klingon sympathiser, because trust me, _I'm not."_

"Perhaps if you could _show_ and not _tell_ me that you can be trusted, it would remedy some of my uneasiness."

A strange thought pops into woman's mind at his request. She unzips her uniform top and pulls up her undershirt just short of her breasts.

Lorca immediately gets the wrong idea, "Uh-Cadet, I did not mean that... Keep your-" then he goes pale. Across the young woman's stomach marks a massive 12 inch scar, crudely stitched together by hand, creating unattractive folds of skin.

Bex blushes, "Second day on Donatu, I took the sharp end of a _bat'leth._ Luckily, an old World War II trench doctor sewed me up and saved my life. Captain, there is no one on this ship, no one in this _system_ that deservedly hates Klingons more than I do. If you honestly believe that I could still hold loyalties with them, then you must also think me crazy."

"Th-that's enough. Put your shirt back on..." the Captain looks away, bashfully rubbing his mouth and chin. He digs into his small bowl of fortune cookies and returns to the other side of the desk, "You _are_ a puzzle, Bex. I can't say I know what you've been through, and I sure as hell can't tell where you're headed, but I need to know what motivates you. Revenge? Redemption? Freedom? What _is_ your endgame?"

She pulls down her shirt and thinks a moment, "...To go home."

"You mean... back to your time?"

"Yes."

"Is that even possible?"

"Everything I have done since my arrival to this year is hinged upon the hope that there _is_ a way back."

A light curl appears on his lips, "Yet, you once waxed beautifully before in this ready room about how you wanted to explore this world."

"Aye, Captain. I am conflicted."

Lorca looks intently at his battered cadet, looking for signs of deceit and when he finds none, his expression softens, "...You've spent too long fighting for the wrong side, Bex. First with the Klingons, then with the Marquida. I can only pray that the next side you choose is the right one... Thank you for being honest with me," he tosses her the fortune cookie. Not only a nonconformist, but the most on-the-nose captain in Starfleet, "You're free to go."

The cadet pockets the cookie and leaves the ready room quietly. Her cheeks feel warm when she wipes sweat off her face, but it's not residual arsenic poisoning that has her worked up. The past few days has exposed much of the refugee's secrets.

* * *

 **UPDATE 1.3.17: Added in a couple lines about Kuade's injury.**

Later that night, after another difficult day on the crew, Bex heads down to the Engineering Deck while the rest of the ship catches up on sleep. When she steps off the turbo-lift, Kuade greets her with a smug smile.

" _Cadet._ Good to see you've finally invested into your future."

"Don't get smart with me. This is just Plan B in case you try to blow me and this mission off again."

" _Blow you off?_ On the contrary. I only mean to secure us a bigger reward," he motions her to follow, "I have disabled the security feed. We have 20 minutes."

The two arrive at a double sliding door with a sign reading _Engineering Test Bay - Alpha_. Kuade pulls out a lifted science officer's badge and the doors unwittingly open. The thief runs down the steps to the secured Cultivation Bay door and pulls out a set of pliers to start work on the exposed panel.

"You've become quite the crook," Bex points out while taking in the room around her. Deep scratch marks line he large glass chamber in the middle of the room, giving her a sense of _deja vu._

The secondary doors slide open, "I _am_ a capable man," Kuade winks and the two inter the sanitation room before entering main cultivation bay. The the french doors slide open and an avalanche of blue spores cave in. Bex instinctively covers her nose and mouth while Kuade strides forward unalarmed.

"They're perfectly safe," he assures her and pulls out a tricorder.

Thousands of multicolored fungus and coral-like plants line the floor of a room that rivals the size of the cargo bay. Blue spores float from one plant to the next like lofty bees, while a slight breeze pumps in from the vents. Who knew this ship was carrying such a peculiar cargo? Bex steps up next to Kuade and touches one of the branches of a particularly pink looking fungus.

"Ah-uh!" he snatches her hands rather roughly and then slip her fingers into his mouth to lick off the squashed spores. His warm tongue glides over the tips of her fingers and his eyes flicker up. For a moment, Bex suddenly feels heavy and Kuade's dark brown eyes look about 1ten miles deep. He gently pulls her fingers from his lips, making a loud 'smack', drops her hand and returns to his tricorder as if nothing happened.

Bex breathes slowly and wipes the now cold saliva off on her pants. She tries to shake off the bizarre interaction as just part of his new erratic behavior and nothing more.

" _Ahem..._ So, this is the stuff that's been making the ship jump."

Kuade scoffs and continues his calculations, "That's a layman's explanation, but yes... Although, the Captain's inelegant use of such a marvelous force of nature is also quite _underdeveloped.._." he tenses suddenly when he feels Bex's fingers slide up against his chest.

"Is that what happened to this?" she rubs where a shrapnel scar should be, "Did it just _jump_ to a new location?" she teases, enjoying how easily his cheeks burn. Kuade may be going through a mood swing or two, but he's still just as sexually inert as ever.

" _Uh-er.."_ he pushes her hand away and pouts,"'Jumping' is just a _spark_ compared to the power these spores are _truly_ capable of producing," he changes the subject without answer her, "The mycelial network is a complex subspace matrix that spans infinitely across the universe and not just laterally. There are branches that reach every point in time, penetrating all the way through to the 10th dimension. These roots are the very _veins_ our onion-verse," he shakes his head, "Unfortunately, this discovery is about two millennia too early and puts at risk the whole universe. Stamets is like a child trying to light a match, but does not realize he's been scraping against the actuator of a nuke," he jabs at his tricorder, " _And he needs to stay away from daddy's things!_ "

Bex knits her eyebrows, "Is that why you wanted on the ship? You needed to get to this?" she squats down to get a better look at fungi while tiny blue spores swirl around in her breath.

"It's one of a _many_ reasons why we're here," Kuade gazes down at Bex thoughtfully, "This ship is on the convergence of several temporal and spatial anomalies that _must_ be corrected," he gestures to her and the garden, "You two including."

"...can these spores get me home?"

Kuade looks down with twang of guilt in his eyes, "Yes... possibly, with modifications. That's why it was so imperative for you to stay on this ship with me... Even _after_ the _Marquis_ is gone," she whips her head up him in dismay and he calmly looks back with commiseration, "It _will_ take me time."

Bex turns back to the spores and thinks a moment, "It wasn't always imperative for me to be here," she stands abruptly, "You were once more than happy to abandon me back on Earth."

Kuade huffs and puts down his tricorder, "A miscalculation on my part, I admit. I thought that's what you wanted," he sighs thoughtfully, "But then you dropped out of college, joined gang and I was forced to reevaluate your... _potential._ You grew on me, Sam! I haven't had this much fun in a long _long_ time," he turns and frowns, turns back and opens his mouth to say something, frowns again, winces, shrugs, breaths a couple of times and after a few seconds of struggle, "...I ...l-like you," then with more feeling, "I _like_ you, Samantha Bex!"

She smiles in amusement, "Is that a confession?"

"Yes? But it's _purely platonic!_ Romantic relations between an investigator and his clientele is _highly_ unethical," shivers run down his spine, "No offense."

"None taken."

"Although, everything else we've done up to this point is highly unethical... Hm."

He returns to hs work and Bex grins a while, until a nagging question conjures in the back of her brain, "Is that the _only_ reason you changed your mind about me?"

Kuade darts his eyes, "Is _friendship_ not a good enough?" he asks worryingly.

"No it's fine," she says with a hint of knowing in her voice, "I was just hoping there was more to your confession."

Kuade gives ward a quizzical look before returning to his notes. She continues to watch the fog of spores float around the garden. Although she cannot understand their impressiveness on mathematical terms, she can feel their 'spark' of power as they brush against her cheeks.

"Look," Kuade presses a code into his tricorder and the spores around him begin to respond. They follow his device and form a long funnel, spinning toward whatever frequency the device plays.

Bex giggles, "You're like a spore bender."

"Hn...? Oh! Yes. I get that reference," he shrugs, "No. More like a reality bender."

She tilts her head in surprise at this comment and the weariness of her partner in crime returns.

The pair continue to watch the fungus sparkle a little while longer. Despite her new reservations about Kuade, Bex just can't stop smiling. The fungus is beautiful of course, but they are not to blame for the time traveler's sudden good mood. While she looks out on the waves of blue dust, an antsiness that she hasn't felt since meeting her first Vulcan returns to her heart. Hope.


	7. Ch 06 - Hobbesian Trap

**Chapter 06 - Hobbesian Trap**

Lorca's paranoia over Bex reaches its boiling point during a convoluted Klingon attack.

* * *

 **NOTE:** At the end of episode _Lethe_ , Saru informed the Captain that the Admiral was taken by Klingons, but has no clue WHICH Klingons. They do not learn that Kol was behind the Cancri 4 Trap until _Into the Forest I Go._ In the following chapter, Lorca and Saru will learn this little fact a few hours after Cornwell's capture.

 **TIME:** The following story happens during and directly after the episode _Lethe._

* * *

Less than two weeks aboard the _Discovery_ and Bex has been kidnapped, imprisoned, poisoned and thrown against the wall a few times. The worst in her opinion, however, has been the food.

"There's been a downgrade in quality..." today's breakfast prescription serves up a simple bowl of low-sodium chicken broth. The cafeteria's white lights reflect off its anemic golden color as a single fleck of pepper floats across the surface.

"Arsenic poisoning is a serious infliction," Kuade chows down on a Ploughman's lunch of exotic cheeses, deli meats and alien fruits, "Long prognosis includes nerve damage, renal failure, skin cancer-"

" _Thank you,_ Doctor Kuade."

"Ooh, Doctor! I like the sound of that. I'm just letting you know how proud I am of you, Sam. Despite Lorca's attempts on your life, you've been such a trooper and a valuable member of this crew."

"Funny man. You know I'm not really here for intel, right? I'm _leverage_. Leverage against Charlie."

"Mm..." Kuade purses his lips, "I think you give their relationship far too much credit. Lorca made you the short straw for a reason. You had more to offer in his little war. _Although,_ he has shown an incredible amount of patience with you. _I suspect_ he enjoys the power play you provide. Fighting Klingons can be _dull_ work, it's mentally stunting. Most captains pick up chess or Kal-toh to keep their minds sharp. _Our_ captain has picked up a knack for head games."

Bex plays with her soup, "I don't think I'm a willing participant."

"You sure, because you've been on a roll, _Ms. I'm Jealous._ "

The pair sits at a small round table by themselves, as they do almost every day since boarding the ship. Most of the crew remain a good 39½ foot distance from the former Marquida and that weirdo, Friday. There have been, however, new additions to the crew that make an exception.

"Mornin'!" a very boyish security officer joins the table.

"Tyler!" Bex smiles dazzled by the sight of him. The young officer cleans up well with slicked back hair and a freshly shaven chin. She notices his shiny new Commander rank badge, "Did you get promoted?"

"Huh?" he looks down at his badge and then smiles suave, "Yeah. Lorca offered me the position of Chief of Security."

"That is a _big_ promotion," Kuade replies in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, who are you? I should probably get to know all my Operations officers," Tyler holds out a hand.

"Oh, this is Lieutenant Joe Friday. Friday, this is _Commander_ Ash Tyler. We rescued him off that Klingon freighter," Bex introduces and Kuade reluctantly accepts his strong handshake.

"Yes, and before I forget. Thank you. I owe you my life," the Tyler charms Bex with a gracious smile.

"You owe me nothing. We'd still be imprisoned or dead if it weren't for your piloting skills," Bex replies making the young man shrug and shyly look away.

This conversation reminds Kuade of when Bex and Charlie first met. How easily young people lose sight of their reservations and flirt with complete strangers. The spare tire rolls his eyes and spots something far more captivating over by the replicators.

" _Michael!_ " he shouts from across the room, startling everyone in their seats. Burnham just scowls at him and orders food a burrito for her roommate.

Kuade sighs, "What a gal. You know, she was the one who figured out how to work the S-drive without a Boomer. Intelligent, _beautiful_ , and I hear she's got a mean Vulcan pinch. I can see why the Captain's so enthralled with her."

"Oh yeah?" Tyler glances over his shoulder.

"Hey, Michael! Over here!" Kuade calls out again.

" _What are you doing?!_ " Bex snips, "Don't fraternize with the crew."

"What? I'm just being nice. No need to get worked up. You're still my number one," he winks and Tyler chuckles at the two of them.

Tilly appears by the table, "Scuttlebutt is you took out six Klingon warriors in hand-to-hand combat," she tries not to swoon when the handsome Tyler smiles up at her.

"Can't believe everything you hear. Please, sit down," he offers. The small round table can only comfortably sit four people. Tyler and Bex scooch closer together closing in on Kuade and forcing him from the table.

"I'm Cadet Sylvia Tilly," the blushing redhead shakes hands, "Uh, this is my mentor, Michael."

"You're Michael Burnham," he says with fascination.

"The same," she smiles with contempt, "You probably _can_ believe everything you hear."

"I tend to assess people in the here and now," his eyes fix tensely on Burnham, "You're a functioning crew member of a Federation starship. _Right here. Right now_ ," he wipes his mouth off with his napkin and reaches across the table to shake Burnham's hand, but she just stares at him with a slight crease in her brow. Kuade and Bex exchange looks and Tilly kicks her foot.

"Don't leave him hanging," the redhead communicates with her eyes.

Burnham realizes her rudeness and takes Tyler's hand.

"Crazy kids," Tilly giggles.

Tyler frowns, "...Michael?" their hands remain clasped and she just stares at the ground.

"Michael, what's wrong?" Tilly asks concerned.

"I should go," Burnham warns in a low voice, but her grip tightens.

"You okay?"

"Yes... No," she starts to pant and her eyes glaze over, " _AAAAAHHHHHH!_ " she shrieks in horror, squeezing Tyler's hand with immense strength. She arches her back and then doubles over in pain. Tilly jumps to her feet to brace her roommate as she hits the cafeteria floor.

" _SAREK!_ " Burnham cries more than screams before her eyes roll to the back of her skull.

* * *

Tyler, Kuade, and Bex stand in the hallway outside Sickbay arguing with themselves whether or not they should intrude on Burnham. It would be rude to barge their way into such a private moment, but all three worry for her.

The boyish officer rubs his now bruised hand, "I'd like to check up on her, but I feel like it would be inappropriate. We only just met."

Kuade and Bex shake their heads and look away with no solutions.

"I have to get back to my station. Hey, let me know if you find out anything?" and the new Chief of Security leaves for the bridge.

"...You know," Kuade whispers in Bex's ear, "Starfleet regulation states that any staff member who has spent time in enemy custody must speak with a counselor. Maybe you should schedule an appointment now."

"Good to see you're interfering again, Detective," she cocks an eyebrow at him before softly entering the Sickbay. She gingerly steps across the floor making her steps soft so they do not interrupt Burnham speaking with the Captain. Dr. Culber runs tests with electrical probes and blood drawing but finds anything wrong. Burnham attempts to explain some kind of advanced mind-meld technique while Tilly listens closely to provide moral support.

"The Katra has a healing power. Sarek used it to save me. A kind of soul graft. It's a procedure that's frowned upon, and rare."  
"So, you're linked with him? He gets wounded, you feel pain?"

"Has this happened to you before?"

"Excuse me, Cadet," a nurse interrupts Bex's eavesdropping, "Did you need help with something?"

"Uh.. yes, um," she tries to talk and listen at the same time, "I need... to uh..."

"Sarek is delirious. He might be dying," Burnham declares with a waiver in her voice.

"I'm sorry," Bex leaves the nurse to address Burnham, "Are you talking about Sarek, the _Vulcan_?"

"Yes," she answers.

"You know the Ambassador?" Culber inquires.

"He was witness at your Donatu V hearing," Burnham answers informatively, "He testified on your behalf while you were in recovery."

"Uhh.. yeah, but he did a lot more than that..." Bex wonders how she knows that, "Is he in danger?"

"I think he's been attacked," Burnham's voice hitches.

"Michael and Sarek share a Katra together," Tilly tries to explain, "Their souls are linked."

"Like telepathic monitoring? I'm familiar. I lived a Betazoid," she addresses the Captain, "So, we're organizing a rescue mission, right?" but she already knows his answer.

Lorca expression remains like stone, but his eyes read, "We can't."

"Captain, please," Burnham pleads, displaying a vulnerability she would normally never dare show, "Captain. Please help me find him."

* * *

Hours later, Lorca stands with arms crossed behind the protective glass of the viewing area while Burnham and company leave the shuttle bay. Tyler pilots the small craft with ease as he and Tilly assist in an unauthorized rescue mission. The shuttle's lights disappear into the twisted, purple thunderstorm cloud of the Yridia Nebula where Sarek was last heard. Although the _Discovery_ hovers more than a lightyear away, the walls of the ship rumble at the power of the nebula's storms.

"You're actually letting them go," Bex joins the Captain, "That's a lot of broken protocols. How very _un-Starfleet_ of you."

"I distinctly remember you accusing me of being unlike any Starfleet Captain you've ever met," he sounds slightly offended, but shows a hint of playfulness in his eyes.

Bex questions Lorca's agenda with this rescue mission, but in doing so, she also questions whether or not she really knows the man, "...thank you," regardless of her uneasiness of the Captain, she feels grateful.

Lorca raises his brows at her appreciation, "Does Sarek really mean that much to you?"

"Mm... He only saved my life."

"Kept you out of prison."

"No. I mean he _actually_ saved my life. I owe him a huge debt of gratitude," she answers candidly.

"Well, let's hope Burnham finds him out there," the normally harsh Captain replies with a hint of encouragement in his voice before turning to leave the viewing area.

* * *

"He'd make a good Marquida," later that evening, Bex and Kuade walk side by side towards the main cafeteria in the primary hull. Kuade aptly shuffles a deck of cards in his one hand with Charlier Cuts and flourishes, "He abandons his Starfleet integrity quite easily. You should've asked to go with Michael."

"What use would I have been?"

"You have experience with telepathic communication."

"This Katra thing is different. Besides. Lorca's never going to let me leave the ship again. With my luck, I'm probably allergic to nebula pollen."

Kuade groans, "For goodness sakes, woman! We're on a science vessel."

The _Marqui_ work crew mingle drunkenly in the lounge area. They greet Bex with a loving "Heeey!" when she walks in and offers her a seat on one of the couches. The youngest, Howard, runs late, but the rest of the men have already dealt a few hands of Five Card Stud. Bronze chips, Latium slips and bottles of replicated liquor litter the coffee table while the men continue their head start on drinking. They extend Bex a brew and despite what Dr. Culber would advise, she graciously accepts.

These men work under Starfleet's umbrella, but are free of the institution's stiff collars. They don't care much for formalities, politics or the exploration of new cultures. They work to stay busy so they can better appreciate the breaks in between. Usually that means late night poker and as long as you're 'Good People' they'll deal you in.

"Alright gentlemen and Bex," Kuade takes the center seat and shuffles his own deck, "I'm sure we're all familiar with the antiquated poker variant, 'Texas Hold'em'."

"Ow! Ancient, indeed!" Sual already has a comparable heap of chips.

"Alright, seven players?" Kuade asks before dealing.

"Nah, I'm out," the tallest and most drunk of the group backs down, "Boss's got my weddin' ring already," he slurs.

"We've only been playing for ten minutes!" another player points out.

"Bex?" Kuade offers and she nods while stacking chips.

Two cards are placed down in front of each player, then the flop of three cards; King of Spades, King of Clubs, and a Queen of Hearts.

Sual whistles, "Startin' out strong. I call," and tosses a Latium slip into the pot without even looking at his cards. The rest of the players are a little more cautious and peek at their hand before they check.

Howard sprints into the cafe and gets greeted warmly, followed by a lambasting for missing out on another game.

"Hey..." he says breathless, "The _Enterprise_ is outside. Vice Admiral Cornwell is here," he smiles having just met Cornwell for the first time. Saul and the others crane their necks a bit to try an look out a window, but know better than to leave cards unprotected on the table.

"I bet I know why she's here," the drunken player nudges Bex.

"Oh? Did the Cap break protocol again?" Saul feigns surprise, "What's that, like strike ten? First he brought _you_ on," he points to Bex as she finishes her first drink, "Then he got the Mutineer and that babyfaced soldier, Tyler. Most captains would've been hung by now," he shakes his head, "How much you willin' to bet Lorca and the Admiral are sleepin' together?"

The table recoils and dismisses the thought.

"The Admiral would never do that. It's against Starfleet regulation," Howard sweetly defends and pops open a bottle.

"And that's gonna stop, Lorca? How else has he lasted this long? I'm startin' a bet right here. Five slips says they knockin' heels _tonight._ "

"Geeze, Saul. You're always making bets. What are you, a Ferengi?" Howard chuckles nervously.

"Hey, my mother was Ferengi," Sual snaps, but then cackles with the rest of the table, "Come on! Let's finish this game."

Kuade places down the turn of the Ace of Diamonds and everyone sucks in their breath.

The rotund, hairy man smiles coyly while stroking his black handle-bar mustache, "Oh-hoo, I'm _all_ in," he pushes his large pile of chips and Latium to the center of the table.

"You never even looked at your cards," Bex points out.

"Don't matter what the cards say. It's all up here boys," he points to his forehead and then to everyone else, "Poker is _war games._ Ever heard of the Hobbesian Trap? It's what happens when two conflicting groups preemptively strike each other outta fear that the other'll hit first. Creates an endless spiral of terror. Explains every arms race in human history; World War III," he points at Bex, "Cuban Missile Crisis. Poker ain't no different. We practicing our war games right now. You _fear_ what my cards read, so I'm makin' the first strike."

"I fold," Kuade announces.

The rest of the men toss their cards aside and roll their eyes. Years of poker night with Saul has taught the work crew to be cautious their boss' philosophical ramblings.

"I'm all in," Bex confidently offers her small pile of chips, "I was born after the Cuban Missile Crisis and then abducted before World War III."

Saul chuckles, "Ignorance is confidence."

"Care-fful," the drunkard slurs, "Thass how I loss my weddin' ring."

"You know, Bex. I've been meaning to ask you about your past life," Saul changes the subject, "What was the early 21st Century like?"

Bex throws her hands up a little thrown by the question, "I dunno. How would you describe the mid-23rd Century?"

Saul thinks, "Uh.. advanced?"

"Space-Agey," Howard offers.

"Blue?" says the drunkard.

"Honestly. Today's not much different from the 21st century. I was doing.. _This_ ," she gestures to the table, "Playing poker and drinking beer. I wasn't on a _spaceship_ and we were at war with _ourselves_ and not aliens, but if you strip away all the technology and all the off worlders, society hasn't really changed that much."

"Aww, no way! What about art and architecture? That had to change, right?" the youngest workman questions.

"Interestingly, not really. At least, _human_ art hasn't changed much. We're still fawning over the same old paintings and monuments."

"It's been a rough couple centuries for Earth. We try to only remember the good parts," Kuade smiles softly.

"I don't believe it," Saul shakes his head and takes swig of beer, "Times _have_ changed."

"I have pictures,"

"Oh really?" the chubby man calls her bluff.

"Like old-timey film prints?" Howard seems excited.

"No. Digital. On my 21st century _communicator_."

Kuade leans back a little surprised by this comment.

"I have hundreds of photos. New York, San Fran, Paris. All I need is a computer that can read Java and I can show them to you."

" _Java?"_ Saul winces, "That's like, computer hieroglyphics. Not really our forte."

"Then maybe... a 5 watt AC/DC power adapter that we can plug into battery cell?"

The men shrug and tilt their heads side to side and calculate if they could build such a thing.

"I might be able to tinker together somethin' for yah, buuut only if you beat me."

The group heaves a big sigh and roll their heads back.

"Aww! Come on, Saul? You're not curious?" Howard teases.

"Oh, I'm very curious about these _pictures_ , but I bet _way_ too much on this hand. You were supposed to fold with everyone else."

"I'm not folding."

"Then we are in a quandary."

The group ponders a moment, "If I remember my game theory correctly," Kuade interjects and sets down the river; a Jack of Spades, "The only way to solve a Hobbesian Trap is for both sides to recognize that they are caught in one. Only then can _trust_ be built and the future of nations spared."

Saul and Bex study each other for a long minute, "How 'bout it, boss? You fold, I fold."

The hairy man pets his mustache and resists the offer.

"I have photos that would make the _Earth History Restoration Initiative_ wet themselves."

Saul grins devilishly, "You're a brat, you know that, Bex? Alright. For the betterment of our nations. On the count of three... one, two, three!" he slams his cards down hard on the table to reveals a pair of 2's. At the same time, Bex flips over her pair of 2's. An improbable, but perfect tie.

"Wha-" Saul chokes, "Friday, you are the _worst_ dealer!"

* * *

The eight-foot tall first officer elegantly trots down the upper deck of the _Discovery_ dormitories. Saru tries to maintain his composure despite how stressful he finds it to be the bearer of bad news, although, he fears the cockamamie rescue attempt that will ultimately follow will only add to his already trying day. Such is the life of being a Starfleet officer. One day, he will be the one to orchestrate a mission and he prays that his schemes will be far less reckless than Lorca's.

The Kelpien gathers himself before addressing his dressed down superior in his private quarters.

"Mr. Saru," the Captain never ceases to hide his annoyance.

"Cancri 4. It was a trap, sir," Saru explains pragmatically, "Klingons have taken the admiral. Their ships are en route to enemy space. Shall I-,"

"Notify Starfleet Command. Ask for orders."

The stick alien stammers surprised by such a prudent order.

"Is there a problem?" Lorca grows impatient to return to sleep.

"Er, uh. No, sir. Uh, just in the past we have engaged in _alternative_ thinking on these matters."

"What if we go after her and it's another trap, Mr. Saru? Did you consider that? Starfleet can't afford to lose the Discovery. She's bigger than all of us. If so ordered, we will try and rescue the Admiral, but not without authorization."

Saru can't argue with such reasonable logic, "I will hail Starfleet now, sir," and he departs for the bridge.

 _How out of character for the Captain,_ the Kelpien thinks, _Admiral Cornwell must've given him quite the tongue lashing. What a tragedy it will be when she is lost..._

* * *

The next afternoon, after a full night of drunken engineering, Kuade sets down a cup of coffee next to a pile of wires, prototype boards, soldering components and tools on the cafeteria lounge table. Saul managed to get the food replicator to render several different components based off Bex's sketches. In the middle of the table sits a long tube of copper wires all crudely soldered to a small battery cell.

Bex rubs her painful forehead after having fallen asleep drunkenly on the sofa. She takes a gulp of coffee and taps the battery, "Do you think this'll fry my phone?" she asks Kuade in a hoarse voice.

The not nearly as hungover detective sits down next to his client and slowly sips his own cup of brew, "Honestly, I'm surprised you've even entertained this idea. I remember back in San Francisco, you swore to never open that Pandora's Box again."

"Comradery makes me forget why I ever decided to do that."

"Sure it's not the booze? Or maybe this is an elaborate attempt to win over your co-workers. You think they can help you secure the _Marqui_?"

Bex grins lazily, "No. This was just poker night."

"Oh? Am I to assume you actually _enjoy_ being on the _Discovery?_ Are you planning to stay aboard a while longer?"

"I'm still not convinced you can actually get me back."

"Are you doubting my capabilities again?"

"To perfect _time travel?_ Yes."

"Well then," Kuade huffs, "I should get started on proving you wrong."

"Please do."

Kuade leaves the cafeteria and heads down to the secondary hull. The _Marqui_ work crew begrudgingly returned to the Cargo Bay earlier, leaving the hungover cadet to her independent study. She scoops up some redundant components and dumps them in a rendered-materials recycling chute. Just then, the bubbly Cadet Tilly enters the mess hall looking for someone to talk to.

"Tilly!" Bex greets, "How did the mission go?"

"A _huge_ success!" she smiles big, "Sarek is alive, but in pretty bad shape. He's in Sickbay now with Burnham," she takes a breath, "They're.. Sort of hashing a few things out. Family stuff. Could take a while, so I'm here. _Bored_. What are you up to?"

"Um. I was just attempting to build a Universal Serial Bus Micro-B Plug," Bex answers candidly.

"Oh! I don't know what that is," Tilly answers with a smile.

"It's a cable connector for my communicator."

"Maybe I can help."

Bex shows Tilly the USB connector she and others attempted to build that night. Replicating copper wire and insulation was simple enough, but finding a power source with low enough wattage was more difficult. The ship has no light sockets, so the boys used the battery from a power screwdriver. The last piece Bex requires is the head of the Micro-USB.

"Let's see if I can remember anything from my old Pre-Quantum Photonics Technologies course," the adroit cadet goes to work identifying the various wire colors, mumbling how the red wire is for '+5V DC' and white and green means 'Data(-)(+)' respectively. She takes the small pair of plyers from the tool kit Saul left on the table and begins twisting the wires into their proper pins.

Bex watches patiently, "Sooo, how does Burnham know Sarek?"

"Are you kidding? She was adopted by him."

"Really! She was raised by a Vulcan? That explains _alot_."

"Right?" Tilly wrinkles her nose, "I'm so proud of her, though. When we were in that nebula, Michael experienced a lot of strong negative emotions. Normally, she would just bottle it all up. Channel her Vulcan side, but instead, she embraced her feelings," Tilly smiles thoughtfully, "She embraced the human side."

"That's good, but don't you ever wish you could be so statuesque? Seems like it could come in handy."

"It's not healthy for you! Humans aren't meant to suppress their feelings. Not even the bad ones. Here," she hands over a the small USB connector, "I think that should do it."

* * *

The two cadets enter Bex's dorm room where the smartphone has been safely stashed away. Bex places the handmade charger and battery cell on her nightstand next to a now stale and unopened fortune cookie.

"Wow, what.. What is that?" Tilly sits down on the mattress.

"A communicator," Bex hands her phone over.

"From your time?" the redhead carefully rotates the phone with the tips of her fingers and studies its contours, "Wait, it's a PADD. No.. it has a speaker."

"It's both."

"This is... _really_ advanced! Are you sure it's from Earth? From 2017?"

"I actually bought that in 2015."

Tilly's eyes widen, "Bex, I've never seen anything like this."

"Never? Now that you mention it, I do find it strange that my PADD and communicator aren't one device," she sits down next to Tilly.

"Hmm.. I wonder why this bit of technology regressed so much?"

Bex thinks a moment, "I've been reading a lot about World War III lately. Apparently, a lot of Earth's written history was lost during those decades. Maybe the technology was lost, too?"

"That could be. It wasn't long after the war when Zefram Cochrane perfected the warp drive. Mankind's pursuits in engineering changed focus... _Wow,_ " Tilly smiles wide, "Imagine the kind of communicators we would have today if we yours was never lost."

The time traveler bobs her head and for once doesn't feel so much like a 'primitive'.

"This is _so cool!_ ," Tilly gushes, "Can you turn it on?"

Bex takes her phone and carefully slides the delicate micro-USB into its port and switches on the battery. She holds the gadget at a distance in case it tries to spark, but lucky, no smoke appears. Tilly hovers over her shoulder while the loading screen of dead company logos scroll by.

"It works!" the redhead squeals excitedly while the vivid commercials play, making the phone chime happily with jingles. The screen goes dark a moment before loading the homepage with its relative date and time...

7:12 PM

FRI, APRIL 24, 2020

...along with the image of a toddler's face.

Bex's heart leaps and she abruptly flips the phone over and pushes it away. Her eyes close tightly as if suddenly struck with pain, "That's it.." she grimaces, "That's why I stopped turning this thing on..."

"Wha-what's wrong?"

Bex covers her mouth with her hand and her whole body turns pink with feelings of stupidity and heartache.

"Are you okay?" Tilly asks in a small voice.

"Yeah... I just need a moment."

Silence blankets the room as the two cadets bashfully stare into space. Tilly fidgets with her hands and rehearses different questions in her mind, but politely remains quiet.

 _PPPPUUUHHHH-RRRRUMMBLLLE!_

The ship unexpectedly vibrates.

"Did... do you feel that?" Tilly asks.

 _PPPPUUHH-PPUHHHH-RRRRUMMBLLLE!_

"The engines kicked on?"

"No... That was an explosion."

The lights in the dorm switch to Red Alert. Tilly steps over to the small 1'x 2' window and stands on the tips of her toes.

The ship rumbles again and part of the shield lights up, "It's a very small explosion," Tilly determines, "I can't see any ship."

"Asteroids?" Bex wipes her nose and unplugs her phone to hide it back under the bed.

"We wouldn't be in Red Alert," Tilly leaves the dorm to look out the larger hall window. Several other crewmen with the same idea point out the small Klingon Bird of Prey in the distance spitting non-damaging torpedos.

"What is it doing?" Tilly asks aloud.

"Provocation," a bald Deltan Operations officer replies, "Those torpedoes aren't doing any damage. They're just trying to get our attention."

Bex joins Tilly by the window and her communicator chirps.

"Hey, Bex! We're under attack!" Howard shouts a little panicked.

"Yes, I'm aware," surprising that he has reached out to her, "It's a Klingon. Starboard side."

"Two just decloaked back here by the stern."

Another communicator chirps down the hall and a Lieutenant Science officer informs the others about three more ships on the portside and bow, all spitting small blasts of torpedos.

The Deltan sighs heavily and gently rubs her smoothed head, "I don't think I have the energy for another Klingon attack."

A few of the crew groan in agreement.

"Bex, what is this?" Howard asks over the communicator, "Boss said to call you, cause you're our Klingon intel. Have you ever seen any like this?"

"Yes. They're in trade formation," she heaves, not thrilled.

"Oh.. uh.." Howard falters and his voice trails off.

"I should get down to Engineering," Tilly leaves the window along with the rest of the crew, leaving Bex to play look out.

* * *

Lorca speed walks down the hall and throws on his uniform top. His normally parted bangs lay flat and scruffy against his forehead. He storms onto the bridge while Saru requests scans and hailing frequencies, "Damn Klingons don't give us a moment's rest," the Captain looks even more haggard than his crew, thanks to his late night with the Admiral, "Mr. Saru. What do we have?"

"Eight Klingon Fighters total, Captain Lorca. 500 kilometers."

"Are they doing any damage?"

"No, sir. Shields are still at 100%," Lieutenant Jr. Owosekun responds.

"Have we located the mother ship?"

"Scanners pick up no other ships."

"What the hell are they doing?" Lorca chews his lip. This seems familiar, "Give me a visual of their current formation on the viewscreen."

The large 20 foot tall panorama window at the front bulkhead of the bridge lights up with a blue schematic of the _Discovery_. Eight Bird of Prey surround the ship, all equal distance apart and all taking turns firing small rounds of torpedos.

"It's a _mech Ha'._ They're in trade formation," Lorca determines and takes a seat at the Captain's chair.

"Trade formation?" this confuses Saru, "Sir, the last documented _mech Ha'_ was well over 50 years ago. The tradition has since been retired."

"Looks like we found some Klingons who still practice. Word has spread about the _Discovery_. It's Starfleet's prized weapon. Priceless, but some people think she can still be bought. I say humor 'em. Let's see what they have to offer," Lorca leisurely sits in his Captain's Chair without a hint of concern, "Hailing frequencies... This is Captain Gabriel Lorca of the _USS Discovery._ You have our attention. Stop your attacks immediately and identify yourselves," he addresses the Klingons and they bark back demands in their ugly native tongue.

"Translation," the Captain requests.

Saru reads off his projection, "'Attention _Discovery_. This is House Kor. We have the... the... ' _aCH?'_ " he waits for the translator to convert the Klingonese to English, but the last word remains in _pIqaD,_ "I'm sorry, sir, but it appears our universal translator is struggling with this dialect. _Ahem..._ 'Prepare for trade deal.'"

"Sorry, Starfleet will not negotiate with terrorists. Besides, we have nothing we can trade you."

Saru reads the next translation, "Yes, you do. You're sitting on it."

Lorca's expression drops and he smacks his lips, "Black Alert. Set Coordinates for Starbase 46," he instructs and briskly leaves the bridge to return to more sleep. The panorama window shows off the dazzling colors of the exposed mycelium plane as the ship jumps away.

Saru tilts his head and checks his map projection, "We are... only one astronomical unit away from our previous location."

"What?" Lorca stops short of the Bridge doors, "I said Starbase 46!"

"Yes, sir! That's where we should have landed."

"Do it again," Lorca stands by Saru and watches the lanky alien set the coordinates correctly. The ship enters Black Alert once more and jumps. The map projection readjusts to the ship's new location, only 0.3 light years from the previous jump, "What the hell is going on?"

"Detecting a sudden dip in spore production," the augmented Spore Operator, Airiam informs in a computerized voice.

"Bridge to Engineering," the Captain hails the comm, "Lieutenant Stamets, why can't we jump?"

"Um, Captain," Stamets answers, "The spores are all gone!"

* * *

The Engineering team have been keeping themselves busy with multiple test jumps with Stamets as their new Tardigrade replacement. Several empty canisters line on the floor outside the Cultivation Bay waiting to be sterilized. Cadet Tilly removes one canister from the storage wall to inspect the spores inside. Only a few hundred are present; a mere 30% of the expected quantity.

"What do you mean 'gone?'" the Captain questions Stamets while they inspect the Cultivation Bay. The normally giant plumes of blue clouds float like thin, dim rivers along the ground. The fungi themselves look their perfectly colorful selves, so contamination or physical sabotage could not be the culprit.

"I know! It's the _weirdest_ thing!" Stamets rubs his chin. His first trip down the mycelium super freeway gifted the stringent Lieutenant some potent irreverence, "At first we thought it was a mechanical error with our spore chutes," he points to a vent in the upper corner of the bay, "Spores from the Cultivation Bay are pumped through pipes in the wall into our storage canisters. Then we detected a slight depletion with the spore production a few days ago, but nothing concerning. We're dealing with organic matter. Organic matter fluctuates, but within the last few hours, production has dropped nearly 60%!" Stamets speaks fast with big, animated hand gestures.

"Is this a result of the ship making longer jumps?"

"Ehhhhh.. longer jumps _do_ require more spores, but we should have more than enough to make an unlimited number of jumps."

"Any theories?"

Stamets shrugs big, "Perhaps... a side effect from the introduction of human material via horizontal DNA transfer?"

"How would that affect the fungi in the Cultivation Bay?"

"The mycelium are connected within a _vast_ super network. A network of _incredible_ , unlimited possibilities. If one specimen is ever damaged, several others will also be affected."

"How long will it take to replenish our supply?"

"Maybe.. 9, 10 hours? Until then, we can return to making smaller jumps with my old software... I _guess._ Boring!" Stamets rolls his eyes.

The Captain worries for his mycologist, but makes no other arguments. Groundbreaking science is finicky and setbacks are par for the course, as are moments of stressed induced mania. He encourages Stamets to fix the problem and greets Saru who waits outside the bay.

"Mr. Saru," he nods and the two head back to the primary hull, "Something wrong?"

"Captain, I've been attempting to finish translating that last transmission we received from the Klingons. I believe it comes from a dialect that does not differentiate between the pronunciation of 'J' and 'CH'. Thus, the word ' _aCH-"_

"Is ' _aj,_ " Lorca stops dead in his tracks curses under his breath, "'Admiral'," he stands with his hands on his hips a moment and motions to Saru to come close, "Are you sure? Does the rest of the crew know?"

"Uh-er, well no, sir. You requested-"

"Good. I don't want to start a panic. Update Starfleet Command," and Saru replies by bowing his head obligingly. The Captain struggles with this information, "Doesn't make sense. What kind of a Klingon trades an admiral as soon as they've captured her?" the hallway quakes hard, "How the hell did they find us so fast?" Lorca complains and runs down the corridor back to the bridge with Saru loping closely behind.

* * *

With no console to manage like the rest of the crew, Bex finds herself drawn to the Critical Care Wing of the Sickbay. She peeks around the room and finds a somewhat familiar patient. She can't really remember Sarek's face well, due to the severe head trauma she suffered when they first met. Simple math, however, tells her the only Vulcan in the wing must be him. He rests in a small force field netting similar to the one used in the brig. The energy wall creates a containment field so that the alien can better heal from his stomach wound. He sits upright on his bed, eyes closed in deep meditation.

There are many questions that Bex was never given a chance to ask the Vulcan, but she can see that now is not the right time.

"Is ther-ah.. Doctor?" a very pale crewman zig-zags his way into the wing looking severely confused and sick.

"This is the Critical Care Wing. Sickbay is jus-" Bex attempts to direct him down the hall, but he knees give out and he tumbles to the floor, "Ah! Nurse!"

"Oh no!" a nurse runs over and takes out her medical tricorder, "Another one. Sir, when is the last time you've slept?"

"Uh.. since.. Four days ago?"

Bex takes the sick crewmate by the shoulders and helps lift him up on a nearby bed. The nurse continues with her scans and determines chronic fatigue as his ailment, "He's our fifth case today. The crew has been working too hard," she looks about to drop as well.

"Oy! Nurse!" a familiar accent calls into the wing, "I need one of those sobering solutions. My boy's about to ralph out here. Hey, Bex!" Saul greets.

The nurse points to a cabinet along the wall and the work man helps himself to a few packets of bright blue gel. Bex follows the rotund man out into the hall and finds young Howard sitting on the floor looking green.

"Oh no, Howie. You overworked, too?"

"Nahh," Saul dismisses and hands over the gel packs, "Just drank too much last night. Got a little motion sick when the Klingon's stated bangin' the ship, whatever that was about..."

"Ugh.. These things taste awful," the boy groans while tearing open a pack with his teeth.

"You said they were wantin' to trade?" Saul inquires.

" _Mech Ha'._ Literally means 'trade deal', although, that translation makes it sound more cordial."

"Ah, a _pillaging_."

"No. An actual honest to goodness trade of equivalent technologies between species. Klingons _do_ try to be honorable, though in my experience, not all houses follow tradition."

"What did they want?" Howard asks while sucking on a baggie.

"The ship of course! What else?" Saul answers, "But what could they have that'd be worth the _Discovery?_ "

"Their cloaking technology?" Bex suggests.

"No.. the Admiral," the boy declares and his face turns from green to white. The ship jerks and the halls turn red when the Red Alert siren sounds.

"They're back!" Saul watches the walls of the ship vibrate.

"Isn't the Admiral still on the ship?" Bex asks Howard.

"No. She left early this morning," he starts to pant, "I-I wanted to say goodbye, because she was on the ship so briefly. She was assigned to some secret mission with the Klingons. I didn't want to overstep my rank by asking too many question, but I did overhear her say... D'Ghor?" Bex recognizes the name and gets a bad feeling. The young mechanic continues, "I think it was a mission of peace. That Vulcan Sarek was originally supposed to go, but some _logic fanatic_ blew up his ship. Cornwell volunteered."

"Well, that wasn't too smart, was it?" Sual mocks.

"It was a trap set by House Kor and now they have Admiral Cornwell," Bex sways her head with sudden nausea and crouches on the floor.

"Whoa, whoa! Put your head between your knees," Saul turns to Howard, "Gimmie one of those sobering packets."

"No no... that's not it," Bex puts her hand out to steady herself, "This isn't a trade. Not really... I need to speak with the Captain."

* * *

The two Command Officers return hurriedly to their stations, "How many are out there?" Lorca asks Owosekun.

"Just the one, Captain, but it's relaying a message from an unknown source," she informs.

Bex cautiously steps onto the bridge. The large room dwarfs the _Marqui_. Eight stations curve around in a half moon shape with the Captain's Chair in the center. The recently promoted Tyler sits at one of these stations, but busies himself with ship operations.

An older Klingon's face projects in the panorama windows and begins bellowing orders causing the cadet to misstep. She cannot recognize his face, but being bombarded with such a large and hateful holographic visual can be jarring for anyone. The message broadcasts from a several light years away, causing the signal to fuzz and flicker. The Klingon snarls and adjusts his feed to a wide shot of a torture room. A human lays exhausted and restrained to a metal standing table with their head strapped in a multi-pronged helmet. The feed comes through poorly, so the prisoner's only discernible feature is her gender. The Klingon flips a large latch on the wall and a bolt of electricity pulses through the table causing the woman to grunt through gritted teeth. The weak current does little damage, since the inquisitor means to only to demonstrate.

The feed cuts off.

The gangly first officer reads off his console, "' _Discovery_ Captain. You surprise me. I did not expect you to run away like a... _bIHnuj_?" the translator falters, " _bIHnuch_? Ah! 'coward'," Saru corrects, "'But you did not run far enough. Now, let me show you how House Kor treats cowards...'" the Klingon Bird of Prey begins firing repetitive shots of small ammunition.

"Prepare the torpedoes," the Captain orders bluntly and confidently steps forward towards the viewing window where the image of a BoP hovers in the distance, "Let's show them what happens with they poke the hornet's nest. _FIR-_ "

"No! _Wait!_ " Bex interjects, but the cannon fires a massive ball of orange energy, knocking the enemy craft's shields in half.

Lorca spins around "Bex!?"

"This is not a typical trade deal."

"Yes. _I'm aware_."

Another transmission cuts in. The inquisitor strikes the prisoner hard across the face with the back of his scaly hand before cutting the feed off once more.

"Where is that transmission coming from?" Lorca demands losing patience.

"It's an advanced interrogation technique and the calling card of House Kor," Bex quiets the room with this revelation, "Instead of just using standard torture practices, the Klingons are using the _mech Ha'_ as a ploy to add in a third variant... _Us._ Every move we make other than surrender determines how they will administer pain. If we attack, the prisoner is stuck. If we run away, she's bolted. If we stand down, they will continue prodding us, all in hopes that _one of us_ will be coaxed into a confession. It takes away the predictability of traditional interrogation techniques."

"Chaos," Lorca declares, "Sounds like a very dishonorable tactic for a Klingon to implement," the Captain points out.

"From my experience, that describes House Kor perfectly."

The Captain shows surprise at this knowledge, "How do you know so much about them?"

Bex's mouth tightens and hesitates to speak aloud. Lorca, luckily, knows the word caught in her lips, "Allies."

"Ready Room. _Now._ "

* * *

In the Captain's Ready Room, Saru reads off his PADD while Lorca scrolls around a projected map of the ship's location. Bex stands quietly, watching the bowl full of fortune cookies buzz around the Captain's desk. The Klingons mean to drive the crew out of their minds with constant torpedo interference and by the Captain's current disheveled look, they may just succeed.

"Captain. Cadet Bex is correct," the exhausted Saru reads, "I've been reading through our database on the _mech Ha'_. Recent conservative uprising on Qo'nos has caused the tradition to fall out of favor, because it encourages trade with non-Klingon species. Our intel on Kol suggests that he aligns himself with these beliefs."

Bex's chest tightens to the sound of Kol's name.

"So, how do we get them to call it off without just handing over our ship?" Lorca asks the room.

Saru's ganglia twitch in aggrievance, "Even with small rounds, our shields have started to buckle. We can't afford to just sit here, but the nearest Starship is 45 hours away and the nearest Starbase is 75," he thinks aloud, but struggles to come up with any plan bordering on feasible, "We can attempt a rescue-"

"That's exactly what they want us to do," Lorca rubs his tired eyes, "Whether we attack or defend, we will cause harm. If we give the Klingons a chance to take the _Discovery_ , they'll have no more use for their prisoner," he states grim, suggesting possible execution.

"You're over complicating this," Bex interrupts, "The Klingons are playing a game with us. They have our best token and want to have a little fun. There is a very simple defense-counter; remove ourselves from the board."

The Captain sighs, "You mean a long jump? We can't. Not for several more hours. Our spore reserves are depleted for some unknown reason," he pauses a moment, "What do you mean 'our best token?'"

"Admiral Cornwell."

Saru gasps lightly under his breath and Lorca's eyes turns stern, "How the hell do you know that? Who told you?"

"Simple deduction," she answers the Captain, thrown by his reaction.

"Break it down for me," he asks with heat in his voice.

Bex exhales softly, "The Admiral left this morning for a mission and I overheard one of the crew mention the name D'Ghor," she fibs a little to protect Howard, "During our imprisonment, L'rell mentioned D'Ghor as one of the Great Houses that allied itself with House Kor. Add it all together, House Kor has the Admiral."

"Mentioned or fed to you?" Lorca asks accusingly. He takes a deep breath and lowers his head trying to calm himself, but the persisting rumbling of his ship edges on his temper, "Why didn't you tell me this, Bex? Had I known about House D'Ghor's coalition, I could have spared Cornwell's life!"

The cadet's face burns hot at his words and she speaks in stammer, unable to explain why the name slipped her mind. Lorca leans his hands on his desk, arms wide and stiff, while his mind whirls fast with dubiety. The lanky First Officer senses the hostility between the Captain and his cadet. He only just met the infamous woman face to face a few minutes prior, but despite her history, he discerned nothing inhospitable. In fact, she seemed quite interested in acquainting herself with his species and apologized for staring at tendrils for too long. The way the Captain glares at her now, however, causes the Kelpien to doubt his judgement

"Uh, are we still capable of small jumps?" he inquires of Lorca in attempts to keep the conversation moving towards a solution.

"Yes, but we will have less control of where we land until we can figure out what's causing the spore depletion."

Saru types a few hasty computations on his PADD, "Based on my calculations, if we keep our jumps to less than 20% of our current stores, we can safely maneuver without over taxing our supply," he shakes his head, "No. The Klingons would retaliate if we attempted this."

"Not if we sever communication first," an epiphany hits Lorca, "Complete radio silence. Turn off all frequencies. If they can't relay their feed from the interrogation room, their game comes to a halt."

"You mean..." Bex speaks up, "Just cover our ears and ignore them."

"Would that work?" the Captain asks his intel.

She thinks a moment. Her only experiences with this form of _mech Ha'_ required the threat of violence in order to solve the trade. Not really a recourse that many on the _Discovery_ would favor, so perhaps a more pacifistic strategy could work, "It'll piss them off, but... maybe? Klingons are restless, overgrown, green toddlers. They'll get bored and move on."

Saru covers his sensitive ear holes from the constant thudding of the ship, "Even if it grants us just an _hour_ of peace, it would allow us the clarity to devise a better alternative."

The Captain takes a deep breath, "Alright then. We go dark."

* * *

A small lime green Klingon sits at the weapons helm of his shuttle and presses the 'fire' button on his joystick every five seconds. This riveting task causes him nod off to sleep.

[Hey! Thock!] the pilot of the craft speaks up, [The ship's gone dark.]

Thock jerks awake and sits up in his seat. The _Discovery's_ engines shut off and all the lights around its hull dim to black, [What's it doing?] Thock stops his firing, [Hail it!]

The pilot broadcasts an all subspace frequencies, but the Starship does not answer nor does it seem to even be receiving the hail, [They've gone into radio darkness.]

Thock grasps his joystick, holds down the charge button and releases a large, angry torpedo. The Starship spins in place and jumps before the round makes contact.

[Ah! They jumped. Contact the _Sarcophagus!_ ] he demands excitedly and brings up a map projection and scans for the _Discovery_. The scanner picks up the the Starship easily, [They only jumped 0.2 AU away,] on the map's projection shows an icon of similar shape as the _Discovery_. A red dot and ring pulsate from this icon, [Hail the other shuttles. Let them know the _Discovery_ is in range.]

* * *

[I see it.]

A second Klingon Bird of Prey warps into firing range of the _Discovery_. The Starship's lights and engines have returned and the female Klingon pilot attempts to hail.

[ _Discovery!_ Your cowardice will be punished!] she screeches, but the Starship switches off once again, [Open your hailing frequencies, Starfleet! _Starfleet!_ ] she demands, [Starfleet! We wish to show you your Admiral!]

The _Discovery_ jumps.

* * *

A third Klingon vessel approaches the lit Starship. A dark gray weapons operator glares at the ship with one scarred eye. His map projection pulsates with that little red dot.

[Shall I contact the _Sarcophagus?_ ] his pilot asks.

[I watched that ship clear Corvan 2 orbit,] the one-eyed Klingon replies in a choked voice, [It jumped over 20 light years to blow up my brother's shuttle. Why does it continue to linger?] he questions as once again, the _Discovery_ powers down.

[Engine trouble?] the pilot suggests.

[No,] the Klingon growls, [They toy with us.]

* * *

"I think they get the message," the Captain and his crew sit on a completely dark bridge. Every corridor of the _Discovery_ , save for a few emergency lights, settles into darkness. Only the few mandatory consoles on the bridge and the medical bay remained powered on, "Make this next jump bigger," Lorca instructs his helmsman, "Go."

The ship jumps once more, putting a good light year between it and the last Klingon shuttle. Bex's knees wobble a bit from the maneuver, but weeks of acclimation to the ship grants her a better stomach for jumping. She admits Lorca's pacifistic plan of 'going dark' is rather clever. It could even work considering her alternative counter which would upset a few of the crew.

"Based on this distance, it should take the Klingons an estimated 45 minutes to track us down," Saru replies contently.

"Good," the captain rises from his seat as the lights brighten, "Let's get to brainstormin'," he and Saru begin to converse.

Bex ambles around the bridge looking at the various consoles and their projected schematics. Most of the information goes over her head, but she still finds it fascinating. The _Discovery_ comes equipped with so many more options than the _Marqui_. Almost all functions of the ship can be run modularly, from shutting off life-support to individual decks, to manually overriding the self-destruct sequence. The Cadet also takes notice of the other recently promoted officer. Michael Burnham sits at the main outer science console closest to Ops. She and Tyler reminisce about their recent trip into the nebula.

"Hey, you alright?" he asks the half-Vulcan when she rubs her temples.

"The synthetic mind-meld augment I used to communicate with Sarek has... mentally drained me. I feel like I haven't slept in days."

"Heh. I know what you mean," he replies friendly, "I don't know how much more of this prodding I can take. I may just confess to something myself."

The Captain's favoritism of these two does not gone unnoticed with the rest of the crew, especially Bex, who determines that her treatment aboard the _Discovery_ has been less than fair. She doubts mutiny qualifies as one of Starfleet's forgivable sins, so the Captain must have the soft spot for mutineers. Many enlightened alien races often remark how irrational humans beings can be when they allow personal interests to get in the way of work. Lorca seems dead set to only worsen that stereotype.

"Oh! We are being hailed by the _USS Gagarin_ ," Saru pulls up the transmission on his console. Captain Kovil's round face appears on the holographic projection.

"Captain," Lorca greets.

"We received a subspace frequency recording from a Klingon vessel a few AU's from your position. It's attempting to contact you, Lorca."

A lead ball forms in the Captain's stomach, "Alright, let's hear it."

The _Gagarin_ relays the message to Saru's console. The one-eyed gray Klingon addresses Lorca in brutal English, " _Discovery_ Captain. You can run. You can ignore, but your ship _calls_ to us. You once described your ship 'a ghost', but I see it _clearly._ You cannot avoid House Kor!" the ship lurches and the recording flickers.

 _POOOWWWWW!_

"Impossible!" the First Officer's ganglia reawaken, "No subspace scanner is _that_ fast!"

Three new Bird of Prey warp within torpedo range and bombarde the _Discovery_ with full-powered attacks, rocking the Starship violently. Lorca calls for evasive maneuvers and Burnham blinks with sudden burst of clarity.

"A tracking beacon!" she turns to her console and begins initiating every available scan, "That's what the message means! The Klingons have somehow placed a tracking device on the ship."

"How? Did they beam it aboard? Were we in transporter range of their ships?" Lorca asks.

"No sir," Saru clarifies, "It must have been brought on board physically. Perhaps when you were captured?"

Tyler's mouth hangs slack and his eyes become alert, "Sir!" he abruptly stands to his feet, "I believe I have compromised the ship."

"Tyler?!" the Captain questions in surprise.

"I think I'm the tracking device!"

* * *

Dr. Culber runs his medical tricorder wand up and down Commander Tyler's forearms and legs, "I can't find any subcutaneous transponders. He's clean."

"Room came up clean too," Lorca puts away his communicator.

"Sir, you may retire me from the bridge and place me in the brig if you still find me to be a threat to your crew," Tyler responds responsibly.

"No, no soldier. There's no need for that..." Lorca breathes out war-weary. The wrinkles on his face look deeper than normal thanks to his higher than average blood pressure causing his skin to swell.

"Captain," Culber instinctively begins waving his medical tricorder wand over Lorca's chest and face, making the brusk leader annoyed, "You're adrenal glands are over taxed. When's the last time you had a break?"

"I'm fine!"

"I'm not so sure. Chronic exhaustion can lead to delayed reaction time, poor judgment and even hallucinations. The _Discovery_ needs its Captain at his best," Culber advises expecting a harsh retort, but Lorca's fatigue hinders his ability to chew the doctor out.

Still combating motion sickness, Howard nurses his spinning head with a cooling pack and listens intently on the the conversation. His weak constitution for space travel disqualifies him from being an official Starfleet officer, but he can't help but worry for Cornwell after his starstruck introduction with her the night before.

"Sir, this tracking device, whatever it is, could've been brought aboard _weeks_ ago and laid dormant until now," Tyler suggests, switching on a light bulb on in the young mechanic's throbbing head.

"Sweep every deck. _Find it!_ " Lorca instructs his security team.

"Umm.." the weakened Howard interrupts, "C-Captain Lorca, sir," he cowers a bit, "I..I think I might know who has this tracking device."

* * *

A blue flurry of stars streak across the _Discovery_ nacelle as Lieutenant Keyla Detmer proceeds with evasive patterns to try and shake the Klingons. Security officers scour the halls for tracking devices and Bex waits outside the bridge, watching the green bat wing pursuers through a large porthole. The _Discovery_ just needs to hold out for a few more hours for its spore reserves return to peak levels for maximum jumping distance. Once cleared of the attackers, Starfleet can begin orchestrating a rescue plan.

Clouds of doubt, however, stir to life in Bex's head, _House Kor would not attempt a mech Ha' of such caliber if they did not have an Ace up their sleeve,_ signs of anxiety start to display in her stance; teeth grinding and leg shaking.

Her new 'friend' Kuade joins in on her stargazing and he attempts to ease some of her tension with a bit of light chit-chat, "Sooo, I've been bending my ear about the ship, and learned that Michael Burnham has also been promoted!"

"Yeah, I saw her on the bridge. She's our new Science Specialist," Bex replies dryly while her attention remains focused on the porthole.

"Oh! The Captain finally allowed you on the bridge?"

"No. I had to invite myself."

" _Pff._ Figures," Kuade pouts, "We're the first two black sheep aboard the ship, but the last to be promoted. _Ugh_... What a racket..." he turns his attention to the display outside the window, "How are you holding up?"

"I don't care about my position aboard the ship."

"No, I mean the Klingons," he addresses her gently, "This is the closest you've been to House Kor since your extraction, isn't it?"

"Huh... you're right," a sharp pain spikes in the center of her chest and her nerves start to flare up again, "...how thoughtful," she replies softly, "You're the only one who's checked up on me..."

"Of course," he makes no big deal of it, "What are friends for?" the Detective no longer blames his professional relationship for his personal interest in his client's life. Despite her old complaints of Kuade overstepping his boundaries, Bex resists the urge to protest this new budding friendship. Even if it has to be with the most annoying being in the galaxy, having someone to confide in brings the troubled woman some comfort, "The Captain's behavior is rather reckless, don't you think?" he complains, "We stand in the looming presence of a Klingon threat-a byzantine ambush that no one aboard this ship has ever experience, except you. Yet, here you bide; an untapped well of knowledge that Lorca refuses to utilize."

"I don't think he shares the same confidence in my abilities."

"No. I fear he has far more _paranoid_ concerns," he cocks an eyebrow to suggest fowl play.

Bex half smiles, "What? Like I'm a Klingon plant?"

Kuade shrugs, "Can you blame him? With your history and attitude. I don't understand you sometimes, Sam. You give no qualms about being buddy-buddy with the likes of _Saul_ and _Charlie_ , but you completely button up around Lorca."

"Saul and Charlie, despite their vibrato, are incapable of duplicity. They wear their agenda on their sleeves, _unlike_ the Captain."

"Well, as true as that may be, for the sake of this war, you two had better kiss and makeup before we lose another admiral!"

"Whoa!" Bex grasps Kuade on the arm "How did you hear about the Admiral?" she knows now Lorca means to keep that bit of information close to the chest, "Is that more ship gossip?"

"Ohhh, Samantha, I've been busy," Kuade gives a cockneed smile and a smoldering stare, "My knowledge about this ship extends _well_ beyond the _Discovery Daily News_. I have an IQ over 2000, you know. Very few things elude will me now," he gives a big toothy grin, exposing the upper gums where a speck of twinkling blue lays trapped between his teeth.

Bex recognizes the blue glint as a soggy, half-eaten spore, "Kuade. What have you been doing this whole time?" she squeezes his arm and glares.

He gasps and licks his teeth, turning away to hide his evidence.

"Are you the reason why the spore drive's broken!?" she hisses, " _KUADE!_ "

"Cadet Bex!" chimes a smooth voice exiting the bridge, "Could I get your opinion on some possible scenarios," Burnham asks, prompting Bex to hide her anger and let go of Kuade's collar.

"Uh.. scenarios?"

"Yes, to solve this trade deal. I've been working on a simulation," the Science Specialist turns her PADD to Bex, "If we surrender the ship, we will have to rendevouz with the Klingons for the trade off. We can use our docking bay as the negotiations chamber, blocking the Klingons from the rest of the ship. When they transport aboard with the prisoner, we will have a split second to beam our own team onto their ship once they lower their shields. We can commandeer their vessel securing both it _and_ the prisoner."

"It won't work. They're not trying to trade a prisoner."

"But they are. We have evidence to believe the Klingons have captured a Starfleet officer that went missing several weeks ago-."

"Burnham, the Klingons never actually offered us anything to trade," Bex interrupts and lays out the truth quite frankly, "And that's because they're waiting to see what cracks first; us, the prisoner, or the ship."

Burnham absorbs this grim truth and her expression falls, "Of course. We're not fighting in an honorable battle," the Science Specialist breaths a heavy sigh and mutes her anger before her face cracks a wrinkle. How frustrating she finds it to fight such an unscrupulous opponent.

"There _is_ counter," Kuade offers up.

"Yes, but the Captain won't like it," Bex points out.

"Captain doesn't have a choice if he wants to keep his precious ship."

Burnham shifts her eyes between Bex and Kuade and speculates on their odd relationship for a moment, "Do you mean," she narrows her eyes, "Allow the Klingons to kill the prisoner in order to spare the _Discovery?_ "

"What, no!" Bex rejects,

"Okay, there's two counters..." Kuade whispers to himself.

"There is a _very simple_ solution; one that has worked for me _every time_ ," Bex explains, "Force a stalemate. Use their own dirty tactics against them. If they want the ship, threaten to destroy it."

The human-Vulcan blinks hard at this strategy. How elementary, but such a difficult plan to execute, "A self-destruct sequence."

"One hell of a bluff considering Lorca's history," Kuade raises his eyebrows in gesture.

"We don't even have to put the ship at any _real_ risk. We can run everything procedurally from the bridge," the cadet remembers her walkthrough of the command center.

"Set the alarms, switch on the evacuation lights, launch a couple of escape pods for good measure and then release just enough antimatter to trip their sensors," Burnham finishes, typing schematics into her PADD.

While the three bounce ideas off one another, just down the hall, Commander Tyler hands the Captain a white rectangular device he found in Bex's room. Lorca takes the objects and flips it around in his hand, examining the black screen covered in old fingerprints, "What the hell is this?"

"Some kind of PADD, but I've never seen the design," Tyler replies, "It's definitely not Klingon."

"And you found it in _her_ room?" the Captain gently fingers the small buttons along the side of the gadget, but dares not to switch on. A grievous thought weasels its way into his mind and his frustration with his new cadet and her prevarication begins to boil over, _the Admiral is being held hostage by Bex's former allies... she obtained confidential party-line information from the enemy... this is more than a coincidence..._

"You can't treat the _Discovery_ like your own fiefdom," he remembers Cornwell warning just the night before, "You're putting the ship in harm's way!" Lorca's mind races and his ears pick up the conversation down the hall about initiating a self-destruct sequence. He turns his head and spots Bex and Burnham and one other face he does not recognize.

"You!" he snaps and storms up to Kuade, "Who are you? I don't remember ever assigning you to my ship," he pushes on the tall man's shoulder to get a better look at his face, "Do I know you? You look familiar..."

"Ur-uh.. I'm Friday," Kuade stutters. His 'disguise' only works if certain key players are oblivious to his presence on the ship.

The Captain's jaw slowly drops open and his grip on the intruder's shoulder tightens, "You're a Marquida... How the hell are you still on my ship?"

"Captain-" Bex tries to cut in, but Lorca calls over security. Tyler dutifully and firmly secures their wrists behind their backs and escorts them to the Captain's private laboratory.

Burnham joins at Lorca's requests, "I need you to break into this thing," he hands over Bex's phone prompting the cadet to lunge at it protectively, but Tyler pulls her back.

"What.. what is it?" Burnham frowns at the skinny device.

"I believe it's transmitting a Klingon tracking frequence," Lorca explains. Burnham looks skeptically at Bex who shakes her head at such a ridiculous allegation, but calms herself before Tyler's strong hands twists here wrists any tighter.

"Sir," the Chief of Security addresses, "Why not just destroy it?"

"I need proof of complicity first."

Bex and Kuade stand quietly to the side while Burnham fashions a cable to the charging port of the phone. After several minutes of fiddling, the Science Specialist manages to get the computer to recognize the outdated programming, displaying the raw code through the holographic projection. She scrolls through a few thousand lines of dead application names and finds several files marked 'DONATU', all images. She opens them.

In the first photo, an older woman stands alone in wide crop field with opulent blue mountains towering behind her in the distance. She holds in her wrinkled, sun spotted hands a card with her name, 'Francisca Fernandez; Madrid, Spain; 1942'.

"It's.. one of the abductees," Burnham whispers out loud. She clicks to the next photo of two men in tan camo, 'Pvt. William Fallow & Pvt. Cam Cordrey; Operation Desert Storm; 1991' with the same majestic blue mountainous background. The half-Vulcan clicks through the next several photos, all photographic records of the Donatu V colonists standing either in pairs or in groups, displaying their names, country of origin and year of abduction. She clicks faster through the next set of photos; landscapes of an uncharted world, exotic spaceships, Klingon weaponry and then a photo not so alien looking.

"New York!" Times Square burns the sky with bright neon corporate logos and LCD advertisements. Quite a different dressing from the less flamboyant metropolis of today. The hostility of the room gradually dissipates as the group admire the rare photographic evidence of an era long passed. Tyler's grip loosens around Bex's wrists and even Lorca forgets why he was so angry just a moment ago.

Burnham advances to the next photo in the line up; a portrait of Bex standing in front of the Statue of Liberty while embraced in the arms of a man not much older than Tyler. The levity of the room grows a little heavy and Kuade sneaks glances at Bex from the corner of his eye. Her focus remain fixed on the vibrant projection of a man she pushed out of her mind years ago.

The clicks from Burnham's hand grow more hesitant as the next set of photos appear; a young child holding up a red maple leaf in front of her face followed by a black and white portrait of a sweaty Bex holding a newborn infant in her arms. For a moment, everyone stands mezmorized from this revealing imagery, not fully encompassing how extraordinary a photo of a mother and daughter now two and a half centuries apart. Kuade can appreciate such a paradox and turns his big sympathetic eyes towards his friend as she loses composure.

A wavering sigh breaks the silence of the room when Bex crouches to the floor, burying her face into her knees while her hands remain cinched behind her back. Tyler's posture slouches and Burnham averts her eyes from the projection, "Sir, I'm not finding rogue programming..." she informs.

Lorca's face grows hot, "Turn it off," he waves away the projection and his ears burn when he hears faint sobs from his broken cadet.

"Captain, sir," Kuade implores from behind, "Is this _really_ necessary?" he huffs and walks over to Lorca, "I once complimented you for your cool military savvy, but here are flying off the handle!"

Lorca recoils when the Marquida steps up to him, " _Tyler!_ Restrain this man!" he turns to his Chief of Security who stands, mouth agape and eyes wide, " _Tyler?_ " the Captain walks up to the young man and waves a hand in front of his face, but Tyler remains perfectly still, not even breathing. Burnham stands motionless as well, her eyes unblinking and hand hovering mid scroll.

"You're really starting to embarrass me. What happened to you, Lorca? Where's that pragmatism you're known so well for?" Kuade accuses.

"Captain to the security team!" Lorca takes a cautious step backwards and notices he cannot hear Bex' whimpers, nor the dull roar of the ship's engines, "I need backup in my private lab, now!" he addresses the comm, but received no reply, " _Security team! Answer me now!_ " the computer doesn't even chime back acknowledging his hailing request.

Kuade sighs, almost in pity, "I originally scheduled our first meeting to be at a later date, but circumstances force me to approach you now."

"What the hell have you done to my ship?" the Captain growls.

"No more harm than you will cause if you do not heed my warning."

"Who are you?"

Kuade simpers, looking quite pleased with himself, "You may call me Q."


	8. Ch 07 - The Captain's Future

**Chapter 7 - The Captain's Future**

Q introduces himself and gives the Captain a glimpse into the future.

* * *

 **NOTE:** This is the chapter that started it all! I admit though, I may have jumped the shark… This is also where my fanfic got its original name, _Declaration,_ but I've since changed it to help it better stand out among the more smuttier Star Trek titles. ;)

 **UPDATE 1.3.18: I've added some changes to chapter 3 and 5. The plot remains the same, but I've added an injury and special ability to Kuade that will come up later. Look for "Update 1.3.18" towards the bottom of the pages.**

 **TIME:** The following happens during the episode _Lethe._

* * *

Lorca reaches out behind his back for one of the various weapons displayed around his lab. His grasps a 22nd-century pistol rifle off a shelf and whips it around at this 'Q' person.

"Bring my crew back to normal and get the _hell off my ship!_ " he barks through gritted teeth as the antique weapon sings in a high pitched squeal, charging its phaser.

"Oh, Captain!" the Q formerly known as Kuade plays coy, "You'd make a Tellarite blush with your stubbornness. I should have you know, that weapon will have no effect on me."

"We'll see about that," Lorca steps forward, but his foot slips through the floor and he falls out of the ship into the empty blackness of space. He drops his pistol and grabs for the ledge of the outer saucer of his ship. Impossibly, his feet not only dangle downwards in space, but they dangle in the wrong direction towards the top of the ship. Lorca takes a moment to calculate all of this and swings his leg over the ledge, rises to his feet and pants in the fresh air despite being in a vacuum.

"Catch your breath?" Q teases while standing on the inner saucer ring. His voice rings loud and clear despite standing several yards away. Lorca ignores him and ganders at the bluish star streaks above his head. Amazingly, the _Discovery_ stands suspended in time during mid-warp. If he squints his eyes, the small green blemishes of Klingon Fighter vessels can be seen on the black sheet of space.

"I hate introductions," Q complains while the Captain marvels at the sights around him, "They always take so long... but," he wiggles his fingers, "It does give me a chance to stretch a bit," he snaps his fingers, dissolving Lorca into a beam of light and transporting him to the underbelly of the ship. Q snaps again and again and again causing the Captain to beam across to various spots around the hull of the ship like a broken Christmas light.

Eventually, he joins Q on the inner saucer ring, catching himself before he tumbles off the side, "H-how are you doing this? Do you have a mini spore-drive in your pocket?"

" _Pfft!_ You need to broaden your horizons beyond the third-dimension if you have any hope of winning this war, _Captain_ ," the bizarre man replies with big scornful eyes.

"What are you?"

"A being beyond your nearsighted view of the world, and you sir? You're nothing more than my chess piece," a shiver runs down Lorca's back when he hears these words. Q raises his fingers, "Now. _Pay attention_ ," he snaps once more. The _Discovery_ disappears beneath their feet and is replaced with the golden stained glass windows of an ornate, space monolith. The position of the stars denote the two men have traveled across two sectors into enemy territory, "Do you know what we stand upon?" Q asks gesturing to the ancient metal below.

Lorca looks around and makes note of metallic pods lining the outside of the enormous vessel, "It's the _Sarcophagus._ Klingon Ship of the Dead."

"Quite _garish_ don't you think?" Q grimaces and traipses between the various nodules, "Someone has gone and decorated this nacelle with the caskets of fallen warriors."

"Yes," Lorca carefully follows his kidnapper, maintaining a good distance of separation, "I've been briefed on that matter."

"Technically, this was a _Hur'q_ vessel, liberated off Qo'nos during the 14th century. _Were you briefed on that?_ " Q mocks, "Thankfully, its former master found a way to turn this eyesore invisible. Quite the pair on that T'kuvma fellow. You'd _have_ to have a lot of gall to call yourself a _messiah_ , but he _was_ formidable. His cloaking device bested even _me_ during my days as a Marquida, and Captain," he stops and turns to Lorca, "The way you blew your gasket at my friend proves to me that you stand _no chance_ of winning this war _._ In fact, I know you don't. I've seen it. _You lose!"_

"Oh, are you from the future?" Lorca remains unimpressed with Q's show.

"I'm an omnipotent being outside the confines of the space-time continuum. I've seen _every_ possible future this timeline has to offer and one ugly species keep rearing its boney, scaphocephalic head," dramatic pause, " _KLINGONS!_ "

"I'm sorry?" the Captain grows irritated.

"Klingons, Captain!" another finger snap and the _Sarcophagus_ slips away, landing the two on Andoria, then Romulan, Vulcan, and Earth. Each planet lays engulfed in flames and ruins, dwarfed by the looming death shadow of the _Sarcophagus_ as it hovers in orbit annihilating the surface, "Klingons in every foreseeable future! In every corner of the galaxy! Entire cultures and planets completely obliterated and rebuilt under Khaless flag. I've never seen anything like it in all my millenias. One solitary race dominating every possible universal outcome. I have yet to find a single conclusion to this war in which they have not effectively _infected_ and destroyed every inch of this galaxy. An anomaly of such rarity and such catastrophic consequence that I could not pass up the chance to correct it," Q returns Lorca back to the _Discovery_ saucer, " _That_ is why I need _you,_ Captain. You play a pivotal role in my plan to right this error, but only if _you keep your wits about you!_ "

Lorca folds his arm and looks at Q dully, "I need to get back to the bridge."

"Forget the bridge! Don't you understand what I'm telling you? You and your crew have no chance of surviving this war. Zero. Zilch. 'Just the facts, cap!' There's not a single possibility in this timeline in which you and your precious ship survive the next coming months. I am offering you your very life and the very future of your culture!"

"That's very generous of you... _Q_ , but I don't have time for prophetic nonsense from a nefarious alien in cahoots with a possible Klingon spy."

"I am not a prophet," Q says offended, "I am a _GOD!_ " he bellows his title and it echoes off the _Discovery's_ shell, causing the metal to quake and groan in fear. Feeling his ship quiver against his heels reminds Lorca that he stands at the mercy of this mad creature.

"I get it," Q backs off, putting his hands up apologetically, "You have skin in the game. I don't. Why should I care about any of this?"

"Exactly," the Captain says breathlessly.

"Well, Captain. It's simple. I _hate_ Klingons! Well... Maybe not as much as you, but I dislike them _vehemently_. I've never met a more _dull_ and _stalwart_ species in all my centuries. They're so one-dimensional. So predictable! Just ' _honor honor honor'_ and ' _kill kill kill!'_ I cannot imagine spending another billenium with only them to keep me company. I would rather burn your galaxy a thousand times over before I allow the Klingon Galactic Empire take over and force me to die of boredom."

"You're insane."

"See!" Q seems almost excited by the response, "Had you been a Klingon, you would have lobbed my head off just now. It wouldn't have worked, but that wouldn't stop a Klingon. But _you,_ there's a hint of understanding in your eyes. I've only just recently become _personally_ familiar with your species, but color me intrigued! You humans are just so damned _irrational!_ So _emotional!_ You do things that are so illogical like trash your home planet and then start a billion dollar industry profiting off the cleanup. It's _hilarious_ and a far more entertaining way to end this universe!"

Lorca answers his cackling abductor with cold silence.

"Fine! You need better convincing. You want to be pulled at the heartstrings a bit, eh? You wanna see the _real_ stakes, hm? Well, prepare yourself for spoilers!"

"Spoilers?"

* * *

A bright light washes over the _Discovery_ and Lorca instinctively covers his eyes, but they do not burn. Once the spots in his vision clear, he finds himself standing in a pristine ready room inside a palace on Earth. A midday, gentle breeze flutters through the open windows, causing silk curtains to dance like like apparitions. The warm heat from the sun and the lush landscaping outside indicate that this palace stands erected at the Federation Capital in San Francisco. It's been years since Lorca visited this place and he must admit to himself, he has not stood in such a pleasant setting in years.

"Where are we?" he asks.

"Earth," Q answers with a gentle expression on his face, "The future. _Your_ future. Or a _possible_ future," he no longer wears his Lieutenant uniform, but instead, dawns a long maroon and black velvet robe.

" _My_ future. Just more parlor tricks and illusions."

"Oh, don't insult me so, Admiral."

"Admiral!?" Lorca scoffs.

The eccentric alien motions to a full-length mirror in the corner. Lorca goes to it and catches his reflection. For a split second, he cannot recognize the face staring back at him. His once vibrant blue eyes now look a little duller and his crows feet look deeper. He wears a freshly pressed white admiral's ceremonial uniform and his graying bangs lay slick to the slide with gel. If he had to guess, based on how much his already old face has aged, he would place the current date at about ten years in the future.

Q's smug mug joins Lorca's in the mirror, "What do you think? Isn't this what you've always wanted?" he asks already knowing the answer.

"Like I said. Tricks. I'll never be an admiral. Not after the _Buran_."

"Oh, ye of so little faith. Your wife can pull a string or two."

"My _wife_?" Lorca goffs loudly.

"Gabe?" a feminine voice calls from the other room and the Captain's heart nearly leaps out his throat.

Q takes pleasure in his confusion, "You know. I've met a lot of Starfleet Captains in my time. They all have _fascinating_ love lives. I've met hedonist Captains who would sleep with anything boarding on feminine. I've met poetic Captains that would rival that of Shakespeare, but I've never met such a stick in the mud romantic like you. I honestly don't know what she sees in you."

"Who?" Lorca asks in wonderment as he fixes his eye towards the other room. The silhouette of a woman dances against the opposing wall while she tussles with long locks of hair, "Kat?"

Q chuckles, "Oh no, no. Think... _older_."

Lorca grimaces, reminding myself that it's still just an illusion.

"Admiral Lorca?" comes a harsh sounding voice. The men turn towards the main door and meet the smiling face of an adolescent Klingon boy.

" _Get down!_ " Lorca jumps into action and shoves Q out of the way while he looks for a phaser.

"Woah! Woah! Admiral!" the Klingon boy holds out his hand, pleading in perfect English. His submissive stance and a terrified face throw Lorca for a loop.

"Oh, _shoot!_ " Q curses and walks up to the boy, "I can be such a Forgetful Franny!" he half laughs and then drops his expression to introduce, "Lorca. This is your son, Krell."

" _WHAT?_ "

"Adopted, obviously."

"Why is he being this way? What's going on?" the Klingon boy complains.

"It's alright. Everything is fine. He's just got some pre-speech jitters, that's all," Q tries to console.

"Of all the days to be nervous!" Krell bounces on his heels in panic, "He's going to _blow_ everything!" to Lorca's surprise, the boy speaks perfect English with hardly a hint of a Klingonese staccato.

"He's not going to _blow_ anything! We have worked too hard for this," Q turns to Lorca, "You have your speech ready, yes?"

"Speech?"

"The hell is going on in here?" a cynical voice cuts through the commotion, and the three bickering men fall silent. A woman in an intricate floor length gown steps into the main room. She shines from hundreds of jewels, hand embroidered into the golden silk of her dress with a bodice mimicking the jagged scales of Klingon armor. The light of the midday sun catches the stones on her dress and a pit forms in Lorca's stomach.

"Bex?" he chokes in shock.

She fiddles with an earring and frowns at him when she hears her surname, "Lorca?" she replies playfully before confidently stepping up and planting a firm kiss on his lips. Second nature tells him to pull away, but the warmth of her mouth and the smell of her perfume render him momentarily stunned.

 _She's beautiful! This can't be the same dour-faced Bex back on my ship._

"Do you mind?" she turns to expose the full length of her bare back, causing the surly Captain to blush. She scoffs and rolls her eyes, "Kuade, do you mind?"

"Oh! Yes. Let me get that for you!" he amicably accepts the task of zipping up her top and gifts the Captain a devilish grin.

[You look beautiful!] The Klingon boy gushes in his native tongue.

 _What? I understood that!_ Lorca stammers back a little.

"Are we all ready? Good. We're already behind schedule!" Q beckons, "Come along, Admiral. We need you."

"W-wait! What's happening?"

"What's happening!?" Q huffs, " _Ugh!_ It's Declaration day!"

* * *

The four quickly walk down an outdoor, covered corridor to the main colosseum reserved for interplanetary lectures. Lorca staggers several feet behind and drinks in his surroundings. White marble columns tower overhead with intricate carvings denoting the various cultures and races within the _Federation of Planets._ Lavish gardens with native and alien plant and insect life border the walkway. Starfleet Officers stand guard along the path to the main auditorium doors and salute as the procession passes. Not every guard wears Starfleet blue. Some carry loyalties to the Klingon Empire and wear coats of gold scales and bone spikes.

"What is that Klingon soldier doing in the capital?" he mutters, "What the hell is going on? Are we under siege? Have the Klingons taken over?"

Bex exhales loudly and stiffens her shoulders. She pulls Locra to the side and takes his hands into hers, "You're making me nervous," she whispers in a voice so quiet he can barely hear, "Whatever has got into your head... whatever set you off, you need to push through it," she encourages.

Lorca's chest tightens, _This can't just be an illusion. It's too vivid, too real,_ he determines as the sweet smell of her breath mixes with the fragrance of her perfume and the scent of pollinating Vulcan palm trees. The heat of the California sun warms that back of his neck and sweat forms on his brow, _No hologram technology is this advanced._

Bex detects his hesitation and squeezes his hand, "I need you right now," and displays a rare glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes. How out of character for the cocksure cadet.

The way she cups his hands to her breasts reveals an intimate relationship he knows nothing about. He feels obligated, however, to at least reassure her, "I-it's okay," he smiles weakly, gently caressing the side of her fingers with his thumb, "I'm here," the words slip out so easily despite his guarded feelings about this situation, but she seems happy with the response. The cortege recommences when Bex wraps her arm around his elbow and weaves her fingers with his. He goes along with the charade, worried what he will find at the end of the hall, but takes comfort in knowing he will at least die with a beautiful woman on his arm.

When they approach the main entrance to the colosseum, Lorca not only hears but feels a loud thunder on the other side of a pair of massive wooden doors. The bellowing of music and chanting cause the dense marble to vibrate with vigor and puts the veteran soldier on edge. With warm smiles, Q and the Klingon boy approach the doors and open them, unleashing the raw power of a half million member chorus. Lorca squeezes his fingers tightly around Bex's hand as they step into the packed colosseum. He feels the weight of the audience; their energy and voices. He spots hundreds of races, many unknown to him, all shouting his name and praise for some accomplishment he has yet to achieve.

He steadily steps forward onto the main stage and the crowd goes hush as Q gives the introduction, "Thank you! Thank you all! I address not only the humans in the audience, nor just the Klingons or the Vulcans or the Romulans or the Andorians. I address the future of our world," Q clears his throat and provides his own translation, [Ladies and gentlemen and every facet in between!]

Lorca's jaw drops, _He's speaking Klingon!_

[To every Klingon Warrior and Federation Soldier and to every hero left undiscovered. This is the day that we are no longer enemies, no longer warrior against soldier; Human against Klingon. We are united!]

 _He's speaking Klingonese and I can understand every word!_ Lorca's knees grow weak and he leans on Bex for support.

[I introduce to you, the illustrious spearheads of this revolutionary and world changing treaty... Ambassador and Admiral Lorca!]

The crowd erupts into a roaring applause causing Lorca's ears to go numb in reflex. Bex turns and offers the most loving and encouraging smile a woman has ever given him. She motions for him to step up to the podium, unweaving her fingers from his cold, clammy hand.

"Go!" she says more irritated when he lingers. The newly ordained Admiral cautiously steps up to the front of the stage to address the crowd.

"Your speech, Admiral," Q requests with a satisfied grin.

No words come to Lorca's mind. The only thing that leaves his body is the cold drops of sweat while his stomach turns with stage fright. The 500,000 some odd faces spin around his head, but he can make out members of the _Discovery_ crew as they stand alongside Vulcan ambassadors and Klingon generals. Blood pounds in his ears, drowning out the loud concerned murmuring of the crowd. The petrified human looks back at Bex and Krell who both take notice of his fallen composure.

"It's all on _your_ shoulders," despite his loss of hearing, Q's voice rings loudly in his ears, "Now you see what is _truly_ at stake with this war. This is your future, the _only_ future in which you _have_ a future," Lorca looks up at Q who snarls, " _So don't blow it!"_ and snaps his fingers, returning Lorca back to the cold, silent laboratory of the _Discovery._


	9. Ch 08 - To Bury the Bat'leth

**Chapter 08 - To Bury the Bat'leth**

The _Discovery_ makes a desperate attempt to outwit the Klingons and Bex's cocksure attitude finally breaks.

* * *

 **NOTE:** More flashbacks are included in this chapter, and I feel compelled to write them in past-tense, but I'm not sure if that's grammatically correct. Also, I dunno if Culber is actually studying psychology, but for the purposes of this fic, he is now!

* * *

The room continues to spin as Burnham's voice rings muffled in the Captain's swollen ears. Incredibly, one of his eardrums feels bursts from the explosive crowd he stood before only moments ago.

"Captain?" Burnham tries to explain something to Lorca, but he steps backward out of the room, cupping the side of his head. He breathes hard, holding himself up by leaning on his knees, allowing sweat to drip to the ground. A trickle of blood runs down his cheek from his ear while he watches the puzzled faces his crew pass by down the hall.

"Captain!" Burnham's voice calls out again. Lorca stands to his feet, faking as much of his composure as he can, "Captain, I found something," the Science Specialist steps out into the hall, offering her tricorder picking up an alien frequency. She speaks to him frankly, oblivious to the trip he just took, "It's extremely faint, but I'm picking up an electromagnetic subspace waveform."

"A... a _what?_ "

"A signal pulse. One very similar to what was heard at the _Battle at the Binaries_. This whole ship is vibrating with sympathy."

"What?" Lorca struggles to keep up, "Why are you only _now_ picking it up?"

"This pulse frequency is a micro-fraction in scale compared to the _Light of Kahless_ beacon. I was only able to detect it after analyzing this," she holds up Bex's phone, "Sir, this device's technology, it's material... I think it's too old. It's incompatible with the vibrations. There's something else on this ship."

If Lorca's stomach wasn't already turning, this bit of information makes it do somersaults, "Hmmmmm..." a skin-crawling voice registers behind his good ear, "Now what other foreign material could possibly be on this ship?" Q stands at the Captain's side, but Burnham sees nothing. Lorca does not address the intruder, but listens intently at his words, "Time to show me your mettle, Captain. Prove you're more than the sum of your simple-minded race."

Burnham types away on her tricorder, "I can have an approximation of tracker's location in-"

"I know where it is," Lorca interrupts as a light switches on in his head, "I know..."

* * *

Alone, Lorca races down to the depths of the _Discovery_ cargo bay, deep towards the back bulkhead where a triple secured vault door lies in wait. He allows the security analyzer to scan his eyes and hand before giving his name and title for the voice recognition software. The two-foot deep cellar door slides open, revealing its massive Klingon weapons cache inside.

Hundreds of artillery, blades, and ammo lay scattered about the floor. Disruptor cannons, _bat'leths, chonnaQs_ , and _Haf'leths_ hang orderly on the wall, while massive crates and barrels take up the remaining space. Impressive that the 100-meter _Marquis_ managed to hold such a mother load. The Marquida must have slept on artillery boxes just to make everything fit.

Lorca begins his digging, opening up trunks and crates and dumping out arms and gadgets to the ground. His tricorder trills as he scans each spear and each knife, but nothing of this pulse signal's origin point appears. He all but gives up when a green light flickers in the corner of his eye. A small and extremely out of place token, no bigger than a silver dollar, lies on the floor of the vault. It buzzes faintly against the metal floor and causes the tricorder to sound its alarms. He picks the token up and recognizes its greenish, sleek shell as Romulan in origin.

 _How did a Romulan tracking beacon get mixed up with this tech?_ Lorca ponders, _And how did the Klingons know about it?_

"Oooh! That's _riiiight!_ " Q chimes in behind Lorca, despite the vault being closed, "The Marquida and I stole this hoard from the Romulans. Why they would be in possession of such a cache is a mystery, but it's no leap in logic as to why they would try and track it. A gun bunny like yourself can understand the value of these treasures. Didn't you once describe this stockpile as a 'jackpot'?"

Lorca grips the tracker and smashes it against the ground, crushing the small widget and breaking the skin on his palm.

Q sighs, "And to think, just a little common sense and you wouldn't have to take your antagonism out on your innocent crew."

"Get out," Lorca snaps to his feet, "I don't care who you are or what you want. Get the hell off my ship, _now!_ "

"Temper, temper, _mon Capitaine._ You've proven yourself a capable problem solver. So don't worry, I'm gone! You won't even remember I was here," Q snaps his fingers one last time and disappears in a shimmering white light, leaving the Captain momentarily stupefied. Lorca feels the dryness in the back throat and the pounding of his heart. He was just yelling at someone, but cannot remember who or what.

His communicator jingles, "Captain Lorca!" Stamets greets on the other end, "We just got a major influx in spore production. We have enough to jump!"

"Do it," Lorca's voice rings pained and gravely, "Get us out of here."

With the ship's shields barely holding on to a full 20% power, the _Discovery_ bounces out of hostile space, 20 light years towards safer territory. The crew members take a moment to gather themselves and unwind their nerves. Many retire to their private quarters to catch up on sleep while others find more proactive means, like repairing the ship. Bex chooses rest and rides the turbo-lift up to the dormitories along with Burnham and Tilly. The three women silently study the walls of the lift for several minutes to try and pass the time, but Burnham feels compelled to say something.

"...Your daughter is beautiful."

"Thank you."

"What's her name?" Tilly inquires sweetly.

"Billie. Billie Jean."

"Like the Michael Jackson song?" the redhead reminisces, "I haven't heard that name in forever."

"...I didn't forget about her, by the way," Bex blurts, feeling the need to explain herself, "It's just... I thought I deleted those pictures," the lift comes to a halt and Bex quickly steps off, putting a good distance between her and the other two women.

Burnham tilts her head, finding her last statement curious, "How interesting. Why would she feel compelled to delete the photos?"

"Maybe they became too painful to look at? Maybe she deleted them in some kind of grand gesture to a life lost?"

The half-Vulcan tightens her lips, "It doesn't make logical sense for a human to cope with her feelings so _irreparably._ "

"I can see how it would be difficult to understand for someone who was raised by Vulcans," Tilly replies meekly, "It's challenging for an emotionless species to empathize with those that _have_ feelings."

"A common misconception. Vulcan's _do_ have feelings but choose not to engage in them. They have conscious control over many bodily functions, such as their heart rate and blood pressure. With this ability, they are able to enter into a trance-like state to better repair injuries, but this control also extends to their limbic systems. They can halt the chemical signal between their amygdala and hypothalamus, thus creating an 'off switch' to an emotional response. Vulcans embraced this ability to the point that their entire culture evolved around the ideology of 'logic and reason above emotion.' Some bloodlines are so in tune with their bodies, they live and die without ever expressing sadness or anger. Others, like Sarek, have to make a more conscious effort to suppress their feelings."

"Huh!" Tilly finds this fascinating, "I never knew!"

"...I too have embraced this ideology, but lack the biological control of a Vulcan."

"Well... maybe that's for the better?" Tilly offers, entering their private quarters first. Burnham pauses a moment to contemplate this suggestion but continues to wrestle with her emotions and adopted alien ideology. With the Klingons still on the hunt and crew exhausted or heartbroken, she determines that now is not the best time to explore her own personal feelings.

* * *

Bex's adamant refusal to talk about her past leaves very few in this world with knowledge of her child's existence. Burnham even reacted quite shocked at the revelation, despite already knowing plenty of the cadet's background. Sharing a Katra with Sarek grants privilege to confidential information, but even a Vulcan understands the basic right to privacy and restricted certain memories from his foster daughter. When returning the phone, Burnham apologized profusely for her invasion, but Bex simply reminded her, "You were just following orders..."

Many young mothers would lose their composure after being reminded of their lost child, but this young mother cannot allow herself the luxury to brood in misery. She learned early on, humans of the future act far less sentimental towards things compared to the humans of her time. It's most likely a consequence of mankind's continuing relations with more levelheaded species, although no species enjoys bleak conversation and Bex tries her damnedest not to be a killjoy. The only other people who show any interest in her past are the dozens of Federation investigators who, she suspects, only wish to cover up the mishandling of Donatu V. Thus, the time traveler maintains her veil of mystery, not only to protect her own emotional well-being, but spare others from the more depressing details.

She takes a hot shower to collect her thoughts before meeting with the Captain. He gave no reason for his summons, but she predicts he will want to pick her brain some more before proceeding with the Klingons. After a nine-month hiatus from the species and limited exposure to their culture, she highly doubts the usefulness of her knowledge. As the hot water stings against her skin, she thinks back on her life on Donatu and the last time she found herself caught in a _mech Ha'._

* * *

On the brink of starvation, a malnourished Klingon sentry demands the humans to hand over the last of their food resources. They request in return for clean water, but this Klingon swore his allegiance to the corrupt House Kor, thus responds accordingly, "I exchange only my mercy not to _slaughter_ you all," and aims a busted disruptor rifle at General Fallon, a judicial leader who never needs to raise her voice, not even in the direst of circumstances.

"That is not proper _mech Ha'_ form," she replies with only a hint of annoyance in her voice, "Either you are ignorant to your own traditions or you are a disgrace to your species. Unfortunately, you leave me no choice. Burn it all," she instructs her team to destroy a silo's worth of Bitter Melon crop and to lay the ashes at the feet of the raider. Despite needing the food to feed her own people, Fallon only burns enough crop to make her message clear, "We will not be intimidated by likes of someone who doesn't even deserve to eat our ashes," and forces the alien attacker to lower his weapon and leave without another word.

Klingons are a peculiar species to Bex. Had the roles been reversed and humans demanded food, they would not give up after a single display of intimidation. Humans would attempt thievery or bribery, but the thought of stealing food never crosses the mind of a Klingon.

"Better to die than to become vermin," Fallon later explains to her while the two clean up the burnt remains of fruit, "You must appeal to their sensibilities, in this case, strength and boldness. If we attempted at compromise and shared our resources, the Klingons would think us no better than livestock. They would not hesitate to turn us into slaves, because to them, kowtowing is no better than cowardice."

"But won't they retaliate? Come back with reinforcements?" Bex worries.

"If their situation is truly so desperate, then yes. Which is why I've given the orders to set aside 15% of our crop to burn again. Once a week, we will set a new bonfire to remind the Klingons of our indomitability," although only in her mid-forties, General Fallon possesses the knowledge and experience of several lifetimes. While the rest of the humans agonize over their imprisonment on Donatu V, Fallon displays an incredible amount of enterprise and rationality, as if she had been planning for this mission her whole life. Not surprising, she was unanimously voted to be the leader.

Bex admires her, "I hope it works, but if not," she raises up her phone, "We need some kind of evidence to leave behind," she sets the phone to record while Fallon pats down her blouse and hair, "State your name, hometown and abduction year."

" _Ahem,"_ Fallon stands straight with her chin up, "My name is Agent Fallon. I was born in the year 3029 in a little town in South Dakota on Earth. I have two sons-"

"Oh, shoot..." the camera beeps.

"Is it broken?"

"No. I'm just out of memory," Bex flips over her phone and pulls up a list of old photos still stored on her memory card, "I'll have to delete some things... uh... I have a lot of stuff on here..." she scrolls through various photos of her daughter and life back on Earth and chews her bottom lip, trying to decide which picture should be deleted to make room for Fallon's testament.

The General watches Bex thumb through the photos, "I-it's fine," she dismisses politely, "You don't need my statement."

"Are you kidding? I need everyone's statement, in case we don't make it off this planet alive. Your family needs to know what happened to you."

"I've already discussed these eventualities with my family," Fallon says very plainly.

"You... you knew you were going to be abducted?"

"Well, I wasn't sure of _how_ I would end up on this planet, only that I would not be leaving it," she replies with a soft smile, "It's fine, Samantha. This was meant to happen."

Bex blinks hard, finding the General's serene demeanor alarming, "Wha-wait... how do you know?"

Fallon's calm smile twitches, "Because _you_ told me."

* * *

Lorca skims through his last Captain's Log, reading his detailing of the strange vision that struck him in the lab. He remembers the finer details of the Federation palace gardens, the roar of the crowd and even the crude wrinkle patterns on the boy Krell's forehead, but nothing of the man who escorted him through this experience. The mysterious man's words remain quite vivid in the Captain's memory, but nothing of his face, species, or even the sound of his voice.

 _Funny_ , Lorca thinks to himself, _I can remember the number of stones on Bex's dress, but not the name of the man who introduced her as my wife,_ he flinches at the thought of his cadet. It makes sense that his guilty conscious would construct such an outrageous scenario, but he can't help shake the feeling that this 'hallucination' truly was his future spoiled. He chooses not to bring it up to the ship's counselor just yet. Nothing personal against Culber, but Lorca hates doctors.

 _Even if I was experiencing the symptoms of acute exhaustion,_ he determines, shutting off his PADD _, my behavior was unbecoming of a captain._

The electronic bell for the ready room door chimes, "Enter," Lorca beckons and turns away to look thoughtfully out the window. His guest makes no attempts at a greeting. She simply folds her hands behind her back and waits for him to recite his rehearsed concession.

"I have, in the past, been accused of being a sort of 'foster' captain... Of taking in outsiders and the refuse of the world under my wing," out of natural habit, Lorca's posture and facial expressions default to intimidation, so he concentrates on softening his voice to seem more approachable, "Unlike my other wards, whom I have granted favor and privilege, my treatment of you has been unkind," he turns slowly and faces Bex who takes a quiet breath of relief to hear him admit this. With effort, she holds back her anger and allows Lorca to make his peace.

 _Her walls are back up. Definitely not the same Bex from that... whatever that was..._ he takes in her face for a moment, noticing the red rim around her eyelids from a long cry, _I've taken this too far,_ he thinks to himself, _We've locked horns long enough and I need her on my side..._

"I suspect I'm part to blame for your animosity," she replies, breaking the silence. He leans his head, questioning her meaning, so she explains, "You obviously have a prejudice against Klingons and take issue with my former cordiality with them," he pinches his lips and looks away. She corrects her passive-aggression, "Or maybe, I should be more cooperative with you."

"Or maybe it's my paranoia," he interrupts, "The stress of war or your criminal past," he pauses and softens his voice, "Or maybe I don't have an excuse," a hint of accountability reveals in his eyes and the muscles in his back and shoulders loosen, "I can be very myopic at times, but I always take full responsibility for my actions. My poor judgment caused me to unearthed a painful memory for you and... I am sorry, Samantha," the softness of his voice breaks the cadet's stoicism.

 _I was not expecting an actual apology from him,_ she knits her eyebrows in thought, _Is he that easily persuaded by a couple of photos?_

She blinks a few times and swallows, "...thank you," finding it relieving to know the steely leader is capable of admitting fault, "I apologize for not properly disclosing information to you..."

Lorca half smiles in return and his eyes drop to the floor, "You and I started off on the wrong foot. I know you're here to liberate the _Marquis_ and I've allowed you to remain aboard my ship so I can ensure your failure in that endeavor," his usual brusque parlance returns to his voice, "Missions change, of course. Cornwell had to throw a wrench into _both_ our plans and now you are no longer my prisoner, but a member of my crew. Problem is, we don't trust each other and that transgression has started to bleed over and put at risk the very life of the Admiral," his posture tenses, "We have received a distress call from the _USS Gagarin._ Our Klingon friends have decided to include them in our little _mech Ha'._ "

Bex sighs aggravated and mumbles some expletive under her breath.

"I want to put an end to this, which means I need to use everything in my arsenal," he continues, "Including the weapons I'm not ready to unshelve just yet," he tilts his head down and implores her with his eyes, "You and I need a do-over and I can't think of a better way to re-introduce ourselves then putting a stop to this little charade... So, consider this as me taking the other end of that olive branch."

She nods to accept his apology and her new mission, but her focus drifts from anger to anxiety. Bex finally recognizes just how ominous of a situation she finds herself in. No longer just annoyed by her ex-confederates' presence, the former captor starts to feel cornered by House Kor.

"And Bex," Lorca replies gently, taking full note of her sudden change in intensity, "I promise you, I _will_ get you back home, somehow, some way," a similar vow to what Kuade and Sarek once pledged, but unlike those two, the Captain offers actual sincerity in his words, "Let's do this."

* * *

Every console on the bridge lights up with bizarre and dangerous looking schematics and command lines. Lorca confidently enters the room and checks over these protocols, instructing the crew to make small adjustments in the formulas. Bex enters after and stands stiffly between the captain's chair and Burnham's station. She reads off the main viewscreen that the ship has only recovered half of its shield power. Dilithium resources rest at a quarter capacity, but the spore storages are maxed out. The impulse engine deck beats red warning of a hull breach and the medical bay currently houses 20 patients with acute exhaustion. Not the best stats to go into battle with, but starships can handle quite a beating.

"Coordinates are set for the Orion sector, sir!" Saru confirms to the Captain.

"Good. Is everybody ready? Do we all know the plan?" Lorca waits for his crew's confirmation, "Go!"

The _Discovery_ jumps within range of the _Gagarin,_ but the viewscreen goes dark.

"Adjust the vantage point," Lorca instructs and the view zooms out to reveal a massive, gold and black vessel about eight times the size of a Constitutional-class starship.

"The Ship of the Dead..." Tyler mumbles under his breath. The massive, trident-shaped warship eclipses the sky and hovers above the heavily damaged _Gagarin_ like a vulture. Shattered bits of debris float widely through empty space, but the _Sarcophagus_ chooses not to destroy the what remains of the starship. The Klingons mean to draw the _Discovery_ in closer by using the _Gagarin_ like a wounded animal.

Once Lorca gets his fill at the sheer enormity of the situation and addresses the _Gagarin,_ "Kovil, how are you holding up?"

" _Tzzzt..._ not well," the _Gagarin_ Captain answers through a weak feed, " _...zzzsst..._ Our warp drive is shot... life support systems down. We can't outrun them with our impulse engines. Don't you worry though... _ssstttz..._ we got our fair share of hits on them!" the round-faced captain tries to remain positive.

"How long before you can get that warp drive up and running?"

"Maybe... _crssshhzz..._ ten minutes if the power couplings don't blow first!"

Lorca takes a deep breath, "I'll buy you some time," and coolly sits in his chair and hails the monolith as if was only the size of a nat, "This is Captain Gabriel Lorca of the _USS Discovery_. You've had your fun harassing me and my crew, but I will not allow your childish game to continue. Stand down your ship _now_ and let the _Gagarin_ go!" he commands but the comm just hums with static. He turns to Saru who ensures him that the hailing frequency is being received, "I demand to speak with your commander," Lorca barks again, _"_ It's _Kol,_ isn't it? Do you want my ship or not? It's the most capable vessel in Starfleet's armada and I have delivered it personally to you! Answer me so we can finish this damned trade," he tries to bait the Klingons into a honey-trap, but they continue to turn a deaf ear. He turns to Bex, "You have to give me something to work with. How do get him to talk?"

She mutters a few times, but the pressure to perform renders her speechless. Lorca turns away disappointed and readdresses the Klingons, but the buzz of the comm suddenly switches off.

"Uh! They cut off the frequency," the first officer he tries to reinitiate the hail.

Lorca huffs and chuckles to himself, "Using our own tactics against us..."

"Sir! They've locked weapons onto the _Gagarin!_ " Owosekun informs, "They're preparing to fire!"

"Get their attention!" Lorca orders, "Initiate the self-destruct imitation protocols!"

The crew enters their individual commands into their stations. The Red Alert siren blares down the halls and the ship's millions of lights pulse red. Several empty escape pods launch out the back end of the _Discovery_ while the engineering crew carefully release a small amount of anti-matter into the atmosphere.

Green swirls of energy ignite to life inside the _Sarcophagus'_ disruptor cannons but then die back down when anti-matter particles reach the colossus' scanners. The massive freighter hovers motionless above the wrecked starship while internal mechanisms lurch to redirect power. Two green tracking beams open up on the two outer prongs of the trident and lock onto the _Gagarin._ The dwarfed starship begins to shake violently as the two tracking beams pull in opposite directions.

"I thought the ship only one tracking beam!" Lorca turns to Burnham.

"That's what our intel collected, but it's been months since our last encounter," she defends herself, "Kol has added his own upgrades. He's attempting to tear the ship apart!"

"He's calling our bluff..." Lorca presses a switch on the arm of his chair and address on a separate frequency, "Captain Kovil! You have to get those warp drives online!"

Kovil attempts to answer, " _Tttzzzzt... krrrsh... can't!... More... zzztsss time!_ " but the background sounds of torn metal interrupt the feed.

"I've reestablished an open line with the _Sarcophagus,"_ Saru informs.

The Captain jumps to his feet, "Kol! So help me, I will _blow_ this ship apart!" he shouts with such authority, the crew believes he may actually have the guts to do it, "Do _not_ ignore me, Kol!" the Captain shouts in vain, "General Kol!"

"... _General_ Kol?" Bex repeats with slight distaste. Her voice barely registers, but she finds her way into the conversation. Lorca snaps his fingers to Saru to redirect the comms to pick up her voice, [If you're a General now... and I'm the only one left in our alliance, does that make me your _Lieutenant_ -General?] her voice breaks as she stumbles on her imperfect dialect.

The _Gagarin's_ quaking comes to a sudden halt, "The tracking beams have stopped their counter pull," Owokeson chimes just before the bridge floods with the lime green light from an enemy video feed. Kol addresses the _Discovery_ personally, allowing his severe, damascus-colored face to take up the viewscreen. Bex's knees involuntarily buckle at the sight of him and she braces herself on the captain's chair. Kol's leathery skin looks darker, scared even, but when her eyes adjust to the brightness of the screen, she sees the coloration is nothing more than red war paint. He means to intimidate his opponents, and lucky for him, it's working.

"Sam. Bex," Kol's choppy dictation echoes boisterously through the comm, [You're still alive? _Impossible._ This must be a Starfleet hoax. A hologram. I watched you bleed out.]

She swallows hard and tries to goad, [You don't hit hard enough,] but her adversary responds with a sharp, guttural laugh. The crew steals glances at one another, unsure of how to take his response. Lorca rushes over to Saru's station to read the universal translation.

[It _is_ you!] Kol seems genuinely amused by his old ally's presence, [And you're on a _starship!_ Congratulations! You've finally been rescued. I remember you vowing to make Starfleet _burn_ for abandoning you on that hell rock, yet here you stand in blue, defending them!] he chuckles again, [Seems I failed to knock in common sense into you. You're still just as arrogant. Just as gullible. When will you learn to stop making friends out of enemies?]

Lorca looks up from the console, concerned by the translations. He addresses the _Gagarin_ in a hushed voice, "Kovil! _Get the hell out of there!_ "

"Two minutes!" Kovil pleads waiting for his warp drive to power up.

[You're still up to the same old tricks,] Bex finds her voice, [A botched _mech Ha'_? You must be really bored. Has acting this dishonorable ever worked for you? You know I can counter this.]

Kol ponders this a moment and shrugs in agreement, [...I _have_ taught you well,] he waves his hand, signaling his crew to release the _Gagarin_ from the dueling tractor beams. He grins with sharpened teeth at the _Discovery's_ confused faces, [Our trade is complete. Starfleet has delivered to me some very _interesting_ intelligence.]

The _Gagarin_ transfers all power to its impulse engines and haggardly runs away leaving just the _Discovery_ and the _Sarcophagus_ to duke it out alone.

"Black alert," Lorca commands and the crew switch off the faux self-destruct sequence in favor of the S-drive.

[I'm _glad_ your back, Sam,] Kol continues to heckle, unconcerned by the _Discovery's_ attempt to flee, [This war was becoming monotonous. I wanted to add in some excitement to this slaughter; inspire Starfleet to act with more prescience and now that I know _you're_ caught up in this fight...] he points, [We can _really_ have some fun. Next time I see the _Discovery_ , I'll pull out my more _experimental_ tricks,] he runs his thumb down the front of his chest, sneering at his old comrade. A bizarre gesture, but by the look of Bex's drained face, she understands his meaning of 'next trick'.

"Go!" Lorca demands not requiring a translator to appreciate a threat when he hears one. The _Discovery_ brews a massive lightning storm and jumps across the sector and half back into Federation safety, "It's over," the Captain announces breathlessly.

The crew sighs loudly in relief after enduring the most mentally taxing trial yet and pat each other on the back. The _D_ _iscovery_ may have been promoted to warship status, but its company remains purely scientific. Long nights of reading textbooks and mulling over complicated formulas build strong minds, but not the kind of minds for war. Lorca understands that some of the hardest battles to fight are not always physical and his mission to turn these intellects into soldiers has proven difficult. They need proper rest to recuperate their minds, so he allows his crew to take a longer than usual moment to congratulate itself for a job well done.

"Patch me through to the _Gagarin,_ " he returns to his seat at the captain's chair, and to his surprise, finds Bex crouched on the floor next to him, "Bex?" he shakes her shoulder, making her jerk hard in surprise, "Woah, easy..."

She pants hard and brushes aside her bangs which lay flat against her forehead with sweat.

"It's okay," he whispers in disbelief by her reaction, "You did fine. We're safe now."

She swallows dryly and gently pats her fingers against his hand to communicate, "I'll be okay," and then stands to leaves the bridge without dismissal.

Lorca pivots his seat around to watch her exit and realizes this is the first time she's ever shown any fear, "She's fought monsters worse than me..." he worries what demons he just stirred up, but cannot think of an appropriate way to comfort her. He remembers Cornwell once instructing him to give PTSD victims their space, so he allows Bex to retire to her private quarters without arguing.

* * *

To her disappointment, Bex finds her room empty and stale, "The _Gagarin_ is safe. The _Discovery_ is safe. Kol is far away. The _Gagarin_ is safe. The _Discovery_ is safe. Kol is far away," she repeats these three lines over and over and paces the small space between her bed and Kuade's. Her sheets lay crumbled and unmade, while a thin layer of dust coats his. She rubs her face and rakes her fingers through her hair noticing how his bed looks suspiciously never used. Worse, a lightness forms in her chest; a feeling sort of the opposite of being watched. She takes out her communicator and requests it contact Lieutenant Friday, but the line buzzes continuously unanswered, "Computer," she hails the comm, "What is Lieutenant Joe Friday's current location?"

"Lieutenant Joe Friday is not aboard the _Discovery._ "

"Excuse me? Did he go for a walk?"

"The Lieutenant's last known location was in the _Discovery's_ citadel."

"The vault..." Bex says breathlessly and plops down on her bed, "That sonuvabitch, he didn't... computer!" she addresses the comm again, "Where is the _USS_ _Marquis?_ "

"Secured in the docking bay... Requesting permission to report Lieutenant Joe Friday as missing in action?"

"...No." Bex tosses her communicator onto Kuade's bed, "He'll turn up eventually... he always does," she doubts her own words, "How ironic... the one time I actually _want_ him around..." she laughs a little and lays back in bed. She attempts to calm her throbbing heart with shear willpower, but the lingering warmth of Lorca's hand on her shoulder rouses another memory.

* * *

Bex stands on a great precipice, hundreds of miles high in the cobalt blue mountains of Donatu V. Her eyes burn with tears and the taste blood runs down her throat. Above the clouds and the oil slick sheen of the planet's barrier floats the remains of a dilithium trail. Another starship has left orbit after spending several weeks studying the inhabitants below. Another captain determined those inhabitants were not worth saving, or so Bex can't help but think. The biting, cold winds whip her long hair through the air making her body wobble against the gusts. A strong hand takes her by the shoulder before the wind knocks her off the cliff.

[Do not repress your rage,] Kol encourages while she tries to muzzle her anger, [Revel in it. Build upon it. Anger is just as much a weapon as your fists. It makes your bones stronger. Flesh thicker. Mind sharper. You must learn to embrace and control it.]

[I am tired...] Bex answers, voice hoarse from screaming at starships, [Rage is good for the soul but not for the heart.]

[Then I will share the burden,] Kol grasps her other shoulder, turning her body to face his. He towers over her, pushing down hard on her shoulders as he grooms her for crusade, [We will escape this planet. Together, you and I will take our rage to Starfleet and incinerate them all.]

* * *

Bex needs some way to calm her nerves, like taking a drag on a cigarette, but a much better and healthier alternative comes to mind. In the higher ranked quarters of the dormitories, the weary cadet finds the counselor's private office. The room looks no different from any most other psychiatrist's office; thick, leather-bound books line shelves across one wall, while anatomy charts of various non-human brains hang on the opposite wall. A bit more cramped given the limited size of the starship, but nonetheless, professionally inviting. Bex enters promptly and greets a familiar, friendly face, "Dr. Culber! You're the counselor?"

"Samantha Bex! Are you surprised?" he asks, rounding his large oak desk.

"No. I'm glad," she likes Culber.

"Good! I'm glad you finally came to speak with me," he offers her a seat at one of the leather, grommet covered seats, "Before we start, I need to inform you that I am not a _fully_ licensed psychiatrist, _yet_. I still have one semester of space psychology courses to complete in between my acting as a physician," he sits down across the desk, "It doesn't leave much time for a social life, but my partner is a bit of a workaholic himself, so it works out for the both of us," he gives his typical introduction in attempts to seem approachable and then gets down right to business, "Given your unique history, there is quite a lot we need to cover. It would be optimal to start at the beginning, _prior_ to your abduction, so I can get a better sense of who you really are," he watches her shift uncomfortably in her seat to the suggestion, "But, it may be best to start more simply," he takes out his PADD and begins his analysis, "So, tell me. How are you enjoying yourself aboard the _Discovery_? It's been an adventurous couple of weeks for you."

"Typical of a starship, I would think," Bex crosses her legs and places her hands on her lap, "If the ship's not getting lost in nebulas are falling into stars, it's not much of an exploration vessel, is it?"

"The Captain mentioned you have quite the sense of humor," he replies with a big grin.

"Oh, the Captain can take a joke?"

Culber stifles a laugh in respect for his superior, "You know, humor can be a good coping mechanism. I bet you have lots of friends _._ "

"Friends? Sure. A couple of mechanics invited me to poker night."

"That's good. Extracurricular activities are an excellent way to socialize with your fellow crewman, but you've spent enough time here to have made _closer_ connections. Is there anyone aboard you can console with? Possibly even share secrets with?"

Bex thinks a moment and debates just how much she should reveal. This is not her first time to speak with a shrink. Starfleet provided consultation after her abduction and she also spoke with an adolescent psychologist as a child. It's old territory, but she admits Culber is the least intimidating psychotherapist to speak with. No one better to pick apart her skeletons, "Yeah, I have a friend... Kua-" she stops herself before giving his full name, "Kew...Q."

"Q?" Culber detects the lie, "Okay, when did you meet this... _Q?_ "

"In San Fransico," Bex draws her fingertips along the grommets of her armrest.

"Oh, so you've known each other for some time now," he makes a note of her fidgeting, "How would you describe him?"

"Eccentric. Possessive. Old-Fashioned. He uh... sort of just appeared one day and never left. I've tried getting rid of him, but he's sort of stuck to my boot. I don't think he has any family or has spent any significant time with other people. He has an odd fascination with my abduction. _Obsessed_ , really. I've accused him more than once of being a pervert. Luckily, he is very much _inert_ in the respect."

"Some people are not as _tactful_ when meeting a time traveler."

"We have a much more avuncular relationship now. He can be very overprotective at times and makes a lot of promises, but he has saved my hide more than once..." her voice drops a moment and her heel begins to tap on the floor, "...I think he's the one who abducted me."

The doctor looks up from his notes perturbed by this, "W-what makes you say that?"

"I dunno, it's one of those little... _bad_ thoughts that get stuck in your head."

"Intrusive thoughts?" he corrects.

"Yeah! I mean, why else would he keep following me around? He only recently started calling me his friend and before that, I likened him to a serial killer revisiting an old crime scene."

"So he's dangerous?" the Doctor's tone turns serious.

"Not... _intentionally_. He's not malicious... or," she can't think of a better word, ". _..evil_." she points towards the bridge, "What we just dealt with. _That's_ evil, but Q?" she shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the accusation, "I will admit his personality has changed a bit since boarding the _Discovery_. He seems more apathetic. More careless, but nothing out of my control."

Culber nods slowly and shorthands this interview into his PADD. He anticipated to hear some interesting backstories about Klingons or vigilanteism, but jumping straight to the identity of her abductor was quite unexpected, "Uh, so you think the abduction was an accident?"

"I think he built something. Despite his claims to the contrary, he is quite the engineer. Maybe something went wrong and his machine went haywire..." she trails off and fails to come up with a good explanation.

"Is he human?"

"No, but he tries to act human. Most of the time, he's like a living uncanny valley effect."

"If you had to guess his species?"

"...non-corporeal?" she shrugs, "Do you know of any species that can survive being impaled through the heart?"

"Not off the top of my head. You say he's aboard the ship, can I meet him?"

"He uh... he's not here anymore," she says almost embarrassed.

"Where did he go? We haven't made landfall in months."

"Last time I saw him, he was standing right next to me in the lab..." Culber leans back with an epiphany when she says this, "He vanished. For good this time, I think. I've been around him long enough to have built a sixth-sense for his presence," she tries to describe that sense, "It feels like a heaviness or a crowding sensation."

Culber rubs his chin, finding her story quite concerning as it has all the signs of a stress-induced hallucination. A mysterious 'protector' appears upon her arrival back to Earth only to disappear after an emotionally trying experience. He asks the following question carefully, "Has anyone else aboard the ship interacted with Q?"

"Plenty! They all think he's a weirdo. Why do ask? You think I'm making this up?"

The doctor smiles painfully, "It is... _unusual._ Most people in a situation like yours would not react so _hospitable_ to their possible abductor. I do have it right in that you feel your abduction has had a _negative_ impact on your life? You've been separated from your daughter, the rest of your family and everything that you know."

"Yes, but-"

"So, why continue to associate with this person? Why not tell the Federation about this theory of yours?"

"I have no proof and I could never get him to confess."

"Is that your concern or have you grown too attached to him?" his tone loses sympathy.

Bex leans back in her chair and takes a deep breath. She understands how absurd this all sounds and regrets seeking Culber's counsel, "I bet you'd try to diagnose me with Stockholm Syndrome or something."

He shrugs, "Right now, I'm not sure what to make of any of this."

"Do you know what I think it is? I think it's more a case of 'Deserted Islanders Syndrome.'"

" _Deserted Islanders Syndrome?_ Can't say I've heard of that one."

"Imagine an island, a _metaphorical_ island, completely separated from the rest of the world," she uses her hands to help convey her analogy, "Somewhere in the ocean, a ship sinks leaving only two survivors. They swim to the island and are forced to live there for the rest of their lives. No way back. Adding to their predicament, each one blames the other for the boat sinking," she holds up both index fingers a foot apart to denote the two survivors, "They hate each other, so they live on opposite sides of the island and never interact with one another. Eventually, after many years, the natural need for socialization becomes too great and they seek each other out," she pulls her two fingers together to meet in the middle, "They forgive their past transgressions and incompatible personalities. Despite being natural enemies, they form a strong bond and learn to rely on each other, because they have no one else."

Doctor Culber narrows his eyes in question, "Is that how you feel, Samantha? Like you're on a deserted island?"

"...yes," she answers truthfully.

"Does it make a difference that you ride a starship through a galaxy of millions of species and cultures open for exploration?"

She chuckles a little, but returns to a frown, "It's kind of hard to enjoy any of it when I'm so homesick."

* * *

 _-Personal Log, Patient SM-202.001-_

 _I admit I may be in over my head here. Samantha Bex's case is unprecedented. Although there is evidence to suggest that humans have time traveled before, she is one of the few civilians on record to be displaced by non-regulated means. Complicating this subject, even more, is her experience on Donatu V. Captain Lorca granted me the clearance to research further into these events, but I am confounded by the lack of evidence. Either her abductors have done well to cover their tracks or the bureaucratic powers that be have severely mismanaged information. Acquiring Bex's point-of-view may be our only chance at solving this case, but I do not wish to press her further until I secure a proper diagnosis of her..._ imaginary friend.

 _Cadet Bex shows a strong sense of detachment and fails to find a purpose and plant herself in this new world. She behaves erratically, jumping from one scenario to the next; Starfleet, to the Marquida back to Starfleet again. It's as if she's in search of something and I can only conclude it's due to her unfortunate displacement. She is experiencing a level of loneliness most people could never fathom. I admit to once entertaining the idea of traveling into the future, but I cannot fully appreciate what it would mean to lose Paul or my mother. I can only imagine how overwhelming it feels to be trapped in an overstimulating world with no one to share it with. I believe this_ extreme _sense of isolation has manifested into the delusion that Bex refers to as 'Q'._

 _She claims other members of the_ Discovery _have met this man, and although I reserve the right to question their knowledge, I do not wish to overstep and break the trust of my newest patient. I do have_ severe _doubts that this man actually exists based simply on his apparent immortality, but I cannot say for sure what is causing these possible hallucinations. She is far too lucid to suggest Schizoaffective Disorder, but I cannot rule out_ _Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or even a possible physiological defect._

 _It is still, however, very early in her therapy and I must remind myself not to jump the gun_ _with prognoses. I_ can _assess now that I do not believe she is a threat to herself or this crew and she can return to her post, pending she gets proper rest._

 _-End Personal Log-_

* * *

With the latest Klingon threat finally neutralized, Sarek readies for his departure in the shuttle bay. Lorca makes the time to properly bid farewell to the Ambassador, a nicety the Vulcan expected from his ward, but she offers him what humans call 'the cold shoulder.' The revelation of his choosing Spock over Burnham to join the Vulcan Expeditionary Group has put a thorn in their relationship. Sarek suspects, based on her recent display of emotional acuity, Burnham will leave that thorn embedded for a long time. Dwelling on such things provides no solutions, however, so he bids farewell to Lorca and turns to enter his vessel.

"Ambassador Sarek!" Bex runs onto the docking bay and catches him at the last second. Lorca attempts to apologize for his cadet's lack of military etiquette, but Sarek politely raises his hand taking no offense.

"The cadet only wishes to thank me for my assistance on Donatu."

" _Assistance_... yes, of course," she does not take his part in her rescue as lightly, "I also wanted to ask you something."

" _Why_ I did it," the Vulcan predicts correctly, "To put quite simply, it was the right thing to do."

"Six other starships passed over Donatu V and accused us of being co-conspirators with the Klingons," she points out, unsatisfied with his answer.

"Logically speaking, there was no reason to believe otherwise. All evidence pointed to an ambuscade. Starfleet determined your imprisonment was an elaborate conspiracy to coax the Federation into war. I theorized your complicity was nothing more than an act of desperation. Thus, despite orders to stay away, I opted for rescue."

"When I returned to Earth, I learned _many_ in Starfleet sympathized with our cause and wanted to help, but their loyalties to the Federation outranked their sense of justice. They put their oath to an institution _before_ the lives that institution swore to protect," Lorca perks up to this. Bex tries her best to keep her emotions in check, but still bites down on her words, "So you see, Ambassador, it does not surprise me that you are a believer," she makes her exact question more obvious, "What I don't understand is, what drove you to break Federation law? Why _did_ you act so illogically?"

Sarek takes a moment to find the words, "I... studied your transmissions for several months before arriving at my conclusion. I documented your conflict with the Klingons and your eventual, unpredicted union. You lived peacefully with your enemy and with the strengths of both of your species, you not only survived but _thrived_ on that unforgiving planet," he hesitates a moment, "It... stirred in me a feeling I once repressed years ago with the birth of my son, Spock... An emotional reflex Vulcans dare not to experience themselves...one absolute _wonder,_ " Bex and Lorca are taken aback by this admission, "It reminded me of a vision I abandoned years ago," the Ambassador doesn't skip a beat, "One of harmony and prosperity between species, even those in conflict," he lowers his head, "I have been accused more than once of favoring inferior species and betraying my Vulcan ideology. Dontu V was to be my proof that this vision is not so illogical."

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you..." Bex replies shamefully.

"There is no logic in feeling pressured by this responsibility. If peace were so simple, the world would have no need for diplomats like me."

"Ambassador Sarek," a Vulcan pilot politely interrupts, signaling the time of departure.

Sarek nods his head to his associate, "I must conclude this conversation prematurely. Samantha Bex, it would be wise for you seek my consultation again," he raises his hand and parts his fingers into a Vulcan Salute, "Live long and prosper," and turns to enter his ship without another hitch.

The escort ship, decorated in blue lights and bronze metallics, ignites its ring of engines. Lorca stands in the viewing box of the shuttle bay and quietly reflects back on Bex's perspective of certain events. She joins him and admires how elegantly the Vulcan craft levitates off the ground. The shuttle bay doors slowly unfasten to allow the chic vessel to warp back to its home planet. When the howl of the warp drive finally stops echoing off the walls of the _Discovery,_ Lorca speaks up.

"Did you get the answer you were looking for?" he asks with honest curiosity.

She thinks a moment, "...I'm not sure. There was so much more I wanted to ask, but..." Lorca eyes thoughtfully dart about the shape of her profile. She answers his curiosity, "Mostly technical stuff... Like, how he broke through the barrier or how much of my memories did he meld with."

"You mean, you don't know?"

"Most of the investigators I've spoken with were more interested in getting information out of me, rather than providing their own answers."

Lorca purses his lips, "I can help you with that," she turns her attention to him, "I've been doing my homework on you. I don't have all the facts, but I might be able to fill in some gaps. For instance, that barrier was not completely impenetrable. Shorter radio frequencies, like your transmissions, were still able to pass through. Sarek and his team correctly hypothesize it consisted of 60 energy pylons forming a truncated icosahedron shape around the planet. Using 60 shuttles, they were able to isolate and bombard these pylons with disruptor frequencies, breaking the entirety of the shell all at once."

"Huh, neat. Very clever," she smiles softly.

"Vulcans are," he returns a small smile.

Her expression drops and she looks away, "Promise me one thing, Lorca," she turns back, "No more mind games. Let's just be frank with one another. I have enough enemies on my roster, I don't want to add your name to the list."

"I get it now..." he finally understands why Bex is the way she is, "...I promise."

The pair says nothing more to each other, but not out of consequence from their hostility or indifference. For the first time in their fractured relationship, the two share an honest respect for one another. Bex demonstrated her moxie and helped save the _Gagarin_ and Lorca proved he's not just another lemming by aiding in Sarek's extrication. Friendship seems a far better alternative than enmity and without all the doublethink cluttering their view, the pair can finally enjoy the gleam of the stars.


End file.
